Shot in the Dark
by AuthorMitsuki
Summary: A young man emerges from Vault 101, disoriented and injured, and Lyra takes him to Megaton. He's looking for his father, but Lyra knows he has a near-zero chance of surviving. He's tougher than he looks though and she finds herself growing more and more attached to him. Eventual OC x MLW.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Fallout or its characters.

**Author Note:** This is a rewritten version of this story. I originally wrote it in 2011-2012 and had it posted under another pen-name (distant_echoes), so its probably new to most of you reading it now. Enjoy and let me know what you think...thanks.

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**Chapter One**

* * *

Lyra opened her eyes to semi-darkness, tears sliding free and unchecked down her face. The memory, so terrible and vivid, had come again. Sitting up, she clutched her hand to her chest, the gnarled scar from the old injury rough and familiar. Her chest heaved as she took a deep breaths and let them out; her body and her hand aching like it always did in the aftermath. After several minutes of breathing, the pain began to ease. When it had all but gone away, she used her other hand to throw off her thin blanket. There was no point in trying to go back to sleep; she would just lie there for hours.

A loud snore in the far corner of the rundown shack rang out. Lyra threw a glance over at Jericho, fast asleep in his own cot, a half-empty bottle of whiskey dangling from one hand. Seeing it, she wondered just how he'd managed to make his way back to the shack when clearly he'd been passing most of the night in Moriarty's Saloon, getting shit-faced drunk.

She shook her head, writing off the whole thing to an unsolvable mystery. Lyra turned her attention back to her maimed hand, flexing it gingerly and hissing a bit as the ache grew worse. Her memory of her time with the raiders had retreated, but the bullet that ripped through her hand that day still caused problems now. Cursing, she set her feet down on the floor and tried to stand up. There was some Buff-Out on the table, if Jericho hadn't taken it all when he'd come back.

The moment she straightened, the room spun on its axis. Unsurprised, annoyed, Lyra braced her good hand against the nearby metal wall and blinked against the vertigo.

_Went too long between doses._ She thought, willing the dizziness to leave her so she could take some chems.

Time passed slowly and her hand ached worse as it ticked by, but finally Lyra was able to open her eyes and get to the table. She reached it just as the room started tilting again. Relieved and nauseated, she picked up the grimy off-white Buff-Out bottle and twisted off the cap. The last three pills were soon in her mouth and she crushed them with her teeth, not having any water to wash them down. Buff-out was rough, powdery, and incredibly bitter to swallow, but the relief it gave her was palpable. Functioning without it was near impossible.

Fast-acting and long-lasting, it was far superior to other chems she'd tried and less addictive. The pills kept the vertigo and pain away almost half a day at a time. As long as she kept a container with her when she traveled, or at the very least, kept a reliable means of supply within a day's journey, she made out just fine.

Some ten minutes later, Lyra was pain- and vertigo-free. She dressed slowly, savoring the slight buzz the Buff-Out gave her. Once her grimy, sweat-stained clothes were wrapped around her, she grabbed her chinese assault rifle and slung it on her back. Lyra opened the door to the shack, but paused before stepping through it. She cast another gaze towards Jericho and saw he hadn't moved. Still passed out, his mouth hung open as he snored. Saliva had formed a small, damp spot near his head and the bottle he'd been holding was on the floor, its contents – what little was left – in a puddle. Blowing an exasperated breath through her lips, she turned away and started down the metal ramp towards Jenny Stahl's place.

The Buff-Out had left a bitter taste in her mouth and she needed something on her stomach.

Pre-dawn had turned the sky above the high walls of Megaton a deep, dark blue and she guessed that it was probably around four in the morning. The denizens of Megaton, some of them anyway, were already moving about in the chilly morning. Lucy West and Billy Creel were walking up the ramps towards home. Down below her, she could see the first of the Children of Atom making their way down to worship the bomb in the middle of town. Lastly, as she reached the bottom of the ramp and turned towards Jenny's stall, she saw the gruesome face of her long-time friend, Gob.

He seemed to catch sight of her too and waved her over. They met underneath the awning of Jenny's stall, the yellow floursecent light ing flickering over them. Lyra probably looked like shit, but Gob looked like hell. One side of his disfigured face was swollen and discolored with bruising.

"Jesus, Gob. What happened?"

Red-rimmed eyes stared back out of the puffy face, but the lips turned up in a sardonic smile. "What do you think, Lyra? Moriarty happened."

"That prick," she snapped. "What was his fuckin' excuse this time? Did you think too loud? Breathe one too many times in an hour?"

"Calm down." The ghoul told her. "Moriarty does this all the time. I don't know why you get so worked up."

"Because he's a goddamn asshole." She told him. "And you're not."

"I see you guys are having you're usual morning chat." Lyra and Gob looked over and saw Jenny walking up to the counter. She motioned both of them over. "Sit down already and I'll fix you guys something to eat. How's radroach meat sound?"

"Like shit." Gob and Lyra spoke up in unison, earning a laugh from the woman behind the counter.

"Well, shit it may be, but it's better than starving."

Once settled in, with Jenny in the tiny galley kitchen, Lyra returned to interrogating Gob about his injuries. For his part, Gob sat quietly beside her and spun the bottle cap he'd pulled from a pocket. There was worry etched into the lines of his face.

"So, what happened?" she asked.

"I dropped some boxes in the storage room right before I got off work...a case of beer I was supposed to take to the refrigerators. All the bottles were ruined, beer went everywhere. Half the people passed out at the bar pulled their guns when they heard the noise. It was a big mess, Lyra."

Lyra listened, pursing her lips. He was right. It was the same sort of thing. Gob made a mistake, a small one, a damnable human mistake, and Moriarty felt it necessary to take it out on his face.

"I should kill that bastard." She muttered, turning away from Gob and staring into her water glass Jenny had placed in front of her when they'd sat down. She took a sip and tasted the strange, metallic flavor of it and knew immediately that Jenny had run out of the good stuff – the clean stuff.

"Water's irradiated. You should ask for another glass. Or better yet, take mine." Lyra didn't ask, she simply took her glass and poured her water into Gob's empty glass. "I'll order a couple of beers or something."

Gob laughed, but it wasn't a cheerful sound. "I don't think it's got enough juice in it to help, but you know, you could be a real doll and buy me a beer too...and some food while you're at it."

She watched him spin his bottle cap. "He docked your pay, didn't he? For the case of beer."

"Yeah."

"….bastard." Lyra cursed, maimed hand twitching. She clenched it into a fist as well as she could trying to ease the stiffness. "But yeah, Gob...I've got the food this time. Don't worry about it."

If she had her way, she would march up to the Saloon right now and put a bullet into Moriarty's skull, but that wouldn't solve much for the rest of them. It was selfish, but the reason that no one stood up for Gob in public was because everyone needed what Moriarty had – something more important than booze and Nova's ass – and that was information. Lots and lots of information.

Jenny came back a few minutes later, steaming plates of radroach-something or other in hand. As soon as she'd put it in front of them, Lyra paid for the plates as well as two beers apiece for herself and Gob. As soon as the beer was handed to him, Gob downed the first glass nearly in one go.

Lyra took her first glass more slowly. After hearing what happened to Gob, she hated asking for a favor, but couldn't think of another time that would be better. Gob worked long shifts at Moriarty's – hell, he practically lived there – and she was going to be heading out into the Wasteland as soon as it was light enough.

"Hey Gob," she said, deciding to just get it over with, "I got a proposition for you."

"Whatever it is, Lyra, the answer's probably gonna be no." He answered.

"Come on. Don't be like that...it could mean a lot of caps. You help me out and I promise I split 'em with you. There may be enough for you to get the hell outta Dodge...you know, away from that asshole."

"And go where, smoothskin?" Gob muttered, using the slur that most ghouls used for people like her – people who hadn't had their asses handed to them by high radiation and the F.E.V.

"Go visit my mom in Underworld? Or better yet, Ten Penny Tower?" He snorted, which sounded really weird coming from a man who didn't have much of a nose left. "Uh, don't make me laugh...there ain't nowhere for a ghoul like me to go."

"But the caps," Lyra persisted, but Gob cut her off.

"The caps would go exactly where they always go...into Moriarty's pocket." he snapped, turning his bottle of beer on the bar. He turned to stare at her with his swollen face and his red-rimmed eyes, "And that's after he kicked my ass for 'stealing' from him. Sorry, Lyra, as good as a bunch of caps sound...they'll cause me nothing but trouble, but...thanks, for thinking of me."

He sighed, then threw back a portion of his second beer.

Lyra nodded and turned back to her own food, but suddenly, she didn't feel very hungry. With Jericho out for several more hours yet, and Gob uninterested, it looked like she was on her own this time.

"Drink up, Gob." she told her friend. "There's another round on its way...then I'm afraid I'm gonna have to head out. The Wasteland's calling."

Gob nodded. "Just be careful, Lyra. You're the only thing I got out here I care about."

Lyra smiled. "What about Nova?"

"She's too busy for the likes of me." He answered, giving the same morose, cheerless laugh as before. "Mostly, she's too proud, but she does let me look sometimes and she's nice to me when Moriarty's gone out on business, so...that's something."

"Yeah," she agreed. "That's something, I guess."

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Someone was shaking him and yelling his name. Caleb opened his eyes, disoriented at the sight of Amata's face hovering over his bed. He groaned and flailed his arms up and out, trying to push her away from him. Hands pushed his arms aside and the shaking grew worse.

"Dammit Caleb!" Amata screamed. "Wake the fuck up!"

Then she slapped him. Pain blossomed on his cheek and suddenly, Caleb was very awake.

"Amata, what the hell?" he snapped and sat up. Without thinking, he reached over to the table beside his bed and picked up his wire-rimmed glasses. Once they were on his face, he rubbed his cheek and glowered at her. "What was that for?"

"Just shut up and get the hell outta here!" She snapped, jerking on his arm again. "You've got to go before they come and get you!"

"What? Who's coming to get me? Amata, what the hell are you talking about?"

A noise between the groan and a sob exited her mouth and Amata glanced over her shoulder towards the door of his room. From where he lay, he had a line of sight out the door and out one of the glass windows out into the corridor. The red alarm lights were flashing and he wondered why he couldn't hear the alarm.

"For god's sake, Caleb...you don't know what's happened…" Amata whispered, voice broken and filled with tears. "Y-your dad's gone...he left the Vault! I don't know how and I don't why, but he left and Dad's having some kind of meltdown...and...and they've already killed Jonas-"

"Wait...Dad did what? Left the Vault?" Caleb interrupted. "And what do you mean 'killed' Jonas? Amata, I swear to God...if this is some kind of joke, I'll-"

"No, dammit! It's not a joke! Your dad left the Vault and my dad is going ballistic. He's already tried to figure out where your Dad went by questioning Jonas. But Jonas didn't know anything and they ended up killing him. And if you don't hurry up and get your ass outta here they're going to do the same thing to you! Now, get up!"

He hesitated and when she saw it, Amata's face grew red.

"Fine. You don't believe me? Stay here and get caught!" She stood up, fisting her hands at her side. It was a typical thing she did when she was pissed off. Caleb had seen it countless times before, but he'd never seen her this angry.

She stomped off towards the door, but right before passing through it, she paused and looked back at him.

"Just you wait. If they get ahold of you, they'll beat you to death just like they did to Jonas! I saw them do it and you're gonna end up the same way! Unless you smarten the fuck up and get out of here now!"

Passing through the door, she left. A few minutes later, the door of his home opened and then he heard the blaring of the alarms out in the corridor. From the window, he saw her look back at him one more time through the glass, eyes full of tears, and then she ran away.

"What is going on?" Caleb asked, but got out of bed and began to get dressed. Once he'd pulled on his Vault 101 jumpsuit, he decided to throw some things into his old school bag – just in case.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author Note:** Hope you enjoy the next chapter – just so you guys know, this story is rated for foul language, violence, and potential/implied sexuality. Thanks.

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**Chapter Two**

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Many might say that the Capital Wasteland was a barren landscape of dust-filled ruins and old war-torn monuments of Humanity's last great folly, but those people would be incorrect. Some might say that anyone who loved the Wastes were off their rocker, nothing more than wanderers, or worse, raiders, drunk on radiation and deluded by chem dreams.

For her part, Lyra disagreed with both statements. While the Wasteland was a barren landscape, filled with ruins and old monuments, there was still life among the debris of the Great War. In scattered settlements and towns, in caves and in underground Vaults, people lived, people breathed, and people died. She knew this because she had seen it, had lived it, all her life. Her whole life had consisted of wandering a scarred landscape, scavenging among the ruins and the monuments for the small, necessary things.

In her mind, the only real dangers of the Wastes consisted of deathclaws and raiders. Deathclaws were large, reptilian creatures, mutated by radiation into terrifying nightmares – deadly and hard to kill, it was a blessing that they were also very rare. In her twenty-four years of life, Lyra had only seen one, but she had had nightmares for weeks afterwards. Raiders, by contrast, were ruthless and very, very numerous. The raiders would get you long before a Deathclaw ever thought of eating you.

_Raiders shouldn't be up this early. _Lyra thought as the tall corrugated metal gate of Megaton opened with a groan, revealing the Wasteland in its vast, grim majesty. Her memory of her time among the Raiders hadn't, wouldn't leave her.

The sun had crowned the hills beyond in golden light and Lyra breathed in the morning air. Despite her ill-temper, she still felt the call of the road; the wind carrying with it echoes of her childhood among the Caravans. She readjusted the small leather bag strapped to her back and started forward, ignoring Deputy Weld's mechanical greeting and putting the robot and the town of Megaton behind her.

The Protectron, having said his programmed greeting and seeing her off, spared her no more of his time and returned to his post. As she followed the gentle slope leading away from the gateway and down towards the well-worn road below, Lyra checked her rifle unconsciously.

With solid boots and no trouble, the small stain on the map known as Springvale was typically a hour walk from Megaton. On that morning, with a warm sun shining down on her and dry breeze drifting over the land, Lyra took her time and made it there in about an hour and a half. Entering the ruined town, the sparse, dilapidated houses nothing more than empty shells, she stopped and scanned the landscape for signs of activity.

A glint of metal caught her eye and she watched as an object, roughly the size of a half-grown mole rat, floated casually through the air. With a frown, Lyra pulled her rifle from her shoulder and lined up the shot.

It was an Enclave eyebot. From the tiny speaker in the metal frame, a jaunty little tune from before the Great War played, all flutes and drumming. While catchy, the tune meant nothing to her and reminded her only of Nathan's ramblings of government and promises of a brighter future that never came.

Her eyes slid along the barrel, down the sights, until the little orb drifted carelessly into range. For a moment or two, she followed its course, a lazy meandering path through the morning air. But just as she squeezed the trigger of her assault rifle, her maimed hand spasmed painfully, losing hold of the underside of the barrel. The three-round burst went wide, the bullets pinging off a dumpster immediately behind the eyebot.

Within seconds of the missed shot, the eyebot paused in its flight and, sensing danger, went on the attack. Red laser bolts erupted from the craft and narrowly missed Lyra's head.

"Son of a bitch." She spat, diving to the ground. As soon as she reached cover, she readied herself to take another shot.

Another volley of red bolts hissed past her hiding place and she held her ground, hearing the music playing from its speakers drawing closer. She peeked out from behind the mailbox she'd used for cover. Only four meters away, the little eyebot was closing fast.

She took a breath and took to her knees, using the top of the blue mailbox to brace her rifle. The eyebot fired again, One of the bolts hit the top of her cover, the flash nearly blinding her. She blinked at the bright flash and instinctively pulled the trigger of her rifle.

There was a small, short burst of radio static and then a miniature explosion as her shot made contact. Two seconds later, Lyra was being doused in pieces of debris and metal shrapnel. One of the pieces of metal hit her shoulder and she felt a glancing pain. Opening her eyes, she saw the eyebot's scattered remains everywhere. A thought entered her mind.

"Wonder if any of that shit's salvageable…" she muttered. "Walter's always looking for spare metal to fix the water pipes and I could use the caps."

Talking to herself had become a recurrent habit over the years, which Lyra supposed made her one of the crazy ones in the Wastes. In her early days, traveling with Jericho and his lot, he'd found it more than a little annoying and had frequently told her so, usually with a cuff to the head. The creative ways he'd found to punish her for her ticks were many, some merely insulting, others downright cruel,..but that particular habit stuck nonetheless and finally, he'd let it go. These days she indulged the vice without fear of retribution.

She crouched down and started sifting through the still-warm eyebot innards. Minutes passed. Most of it turned up as shit, absolutely useless for her purposes, but when she was about to give up and call it a day, she finally turned up something. It was a square piece of metal, the size of holotape, with a couple of small prongs on one of the longer sides. Rust-colored, but not corroded, it sported a small engraving on one side.

"RHO." She muttered, smiling as she turned the metal whats-it n her hands. "Now that is really interesting..."

"Talking to yourself again, Lyra?" A tired voice said behind her and Lyra was already on her feet, grabbing for her rifle. "That's a bad habit, you know. Soon you'll be down in the pit worshiping that damn bomb like the Children."

"You know what's another bad habit?" Lyra replied, bringing her rifle up and pointing it at thin blonde's chest. "Sneaking up behind people."

"I know a worse one." Silver said, looking at Lyra's pointed barrel and smirking. "Letting people sneak up behind you. You think you could put that fuckin' rifle down? I thought we had business today? Didn't think it was that kinda business."

"Don't sneak up behind me anymore and it won't be." Lyra lowered her rifle, but didn't put it away. Silver laughed and pulled a dingy cigarette pack out of her pocket. Placing one of the cigarettes to her lips, she took out a lighter and ignited the end.

"You're making a whole lot racket out here in my back yard. Here I thought you were gonna be more subtle than that. Guess Jericho's rubbin' off on you."

A wry smile crossed Lyra's face. "Maybe you're right."

Silver turned around and started towards her home. Without looking over her shoulder, she motioned Lyra to follow her. "Well, come on...get out of the sun. We got business to attend to..."

"Yeah, we do and I have a feelin' you, in particular, are gonna like what I got in mind."

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All was chaos. Caleb flew through the corridors of Vault 101, doing his best to avoid anyone and everyone. It was true. All of it – every last fucking bit of what Amata had said was true. He'd went through his father's bedroom and saw all his things were gone. He'd went to Jonas' office and found the doctor dead on the floor of his exam room – blood everywhere, his face a mass of...something that wasn't a face anymore. Sick and vomiting, he'd stumbled into the corridor just as Officer Gomez ran around the corner. The old hispanic man had told him to scram.

Jonas was dead. His father was missing. And he was in very real danger.

Amid the persistent blaring alarm, he could just make out the sound of the intercom as he hurried along. The Overseer was giving orders for everyone to remain inside their quarters until notified. Anyone found outside was to be detained and questioned. Filled with anger, Caleb's thoughts were dark as he turned a corner...and barely missed catching a police baton to the face.

Movement from his peripheral vision gave him just enough time to fall backwards and away from the flying weapon. On the ground, scrambling on his butt backwards, he looked up and saw Officer Mack coming around the corner. The look in Mack's eyes was concerning. Caleb put a hand on the .10 mm pistol he'd lifted from one of the security lockers after meeting with Officer Gomez.

"Look at this." Mack sneered behind the faceshield of his security helmet, eyeing Caleb's hand where it rested on the pistol. "I've found another radroach that needs stomping."

Unlike those of his dim-witted son, Officer Mack's eyes were sharp and intelligent. The malice in his face was clear. He wasn't swept up by the apparently insanity of the Vault. He acted on his own. Caleb raised his pistol.

"Back off, Mack." He said, relieved that his voice came out steadier than he felt. "I'll pull the trigger, I swear to God."

"That's cute, Caleb." Mack laughed, brandishing his baton. "Too bad you don't have the balls to do it."

The man lunged forward and Caleb didn't think. The .10 mm pistol jerked in his hand as he pulled the trigger, surprising him. The bullet struck Officer Mack in the neck, spattering blood everywhere. The sound that came from Mack's throat was sickening – a mixture of a shout and a wet gurgle as his throat and lungs filled with blood. He choked, falling backwards. The police baton clattered to the ground between them.

Disbelief and delayed fear flooded Caleb's system, making him light-headed. The pistol fell from his hand as the realization that he'd just killed a man swept over him. He didn't think. He couldn't think. He just threw up, tried to stand, threw up a second time. Then, with nothing left and the fear inside him growing more intense, Caleb picked up the pistol and ran.

Word traveled fast in a Vault and Vault 101 was hardly the exception. With cameras everywhere and only twenty families or so left from the original fifty, any new information or strange happenings always spread like wildfire. So when Caleb had left Officer Mack to bleed to death in the corridor, not far from the common rooms, everyone heard about it.

The blaring alarm in the corridors changed in tone and cadence; the lights went from the cautionary yellow to crimson, and when Caleb reached the upper levels, he ran right into two more security officers – this time, Kendall and Park – and they weren't carrying batons like Officer Mack.

They were carrying guns.

If he had merely been in trouble before, he was damn near up shit creek now.

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* * *

Silver's house was the only one in Springvale that was liveable. The roof didn't leak and none of the windows were broken. It was small and dirty, but its power worked, though the source of that power was a mystery. As it was, Lyra walked ahead of Silver, more from Silver's overwhelming paranoia than any actual ill-intent on Lyra's part.

It was a little known fact – at least among the newer residents of Megaton – that Moriarty and Silver had a lot of bad blood between them. Among the newer residents, who always seemed to disappear shortly afterwards for one reason or another anyway, Moriarty often tried to convince them to take up his vendetta for a nice sum of caps. Silver, used to attempts on her life, had grown naturally suspicious of any face she hadn't seen before and, in most cases, shot first and asked questions later.

Lyra, having been a resident of Megaton for some five or six years, was at least a face she recognized and, therefore, had earned a small benefit of a doubt. She got to come and go with miniscule harassment from Silver and, in this case, got to feel Silver's gun poking her in the back while the woman invited her inside to talk business, instead of pushing up daisies immediately.

"Sit down." Silver directed when they'd reached the kitchen area. Lyra sat down in the chair nearest the door while Silver put a back to the wall and laid her rifle across her lap.

"You can relax a little, Silver." Lyra said. "I'm not here to kill you."

"I'll be the judge of that." The woman pulled out her pack of cigarettes.

"So, business. You ever heard of Ultra-jet?"

"No." Silver replied, drawing on the white stick and staring holes through her. "Hard to hear of something that doesn't exist."

"What if I told you it does exist? And that not only is it five times stronger than the regular stuff, but it lasts twice as long?"

"Then I'd say you're full of shit. There ain't no chem called Ultra-jet. Trust me, I'd know."

It was true. Of all the lies Moriarty spread about Silver to entice someone to take up the hit on her head, the one about her being an incurable chem-junkie wasn't one of them. One of the reasons for their big falling out had to do with chems – and how Silver had stolen a great deal of them from Moriarty's lockbox before splitting on him.

"Well, you'd be half-right. There isn't a chem called Ultra-jet right now," Lyra explained. "But there will be. I have it from some reliable sources that there's a couple of guys in the northwest working on it right now, but they need the stuff to make it…which is where the two of us come in. We get them the supplies they need, they make Ultra-jet for us."

"I call bullshit." Silver said, blowing smoke in Lyra direction. "If it's that good, why would they give it to us? Once they get the stuff they need, what's gonna keep them from killing our asses and making a shitload of caps without us?"

"Come on, Silver. Think about it. We get the supplies for them, they pay us. They use those supplies to make Ultra-jet. We use the caps we got from the supplies and buy the Ultra-jet, then we get our asses back here and sell it for more than we bought it for in the first place. See what I'm saying? Easy."

"It ain't so easy if your reliable source is just as full of shit as the toilet in my bathroom is," Silver snapped, putting her cigarette butt out on the kitchen table. "This could just be some sort of set-up. I don't trust it."

Lyra leaned back in her chair and ran a hand through her hair. "Dammit, Silver, I know how this sounds...but I trust my guy okay? And even if he is full of shit, I think it's worth checking out. We could head out, find the place, and ask the guys ourselves. From what I hear, it's only a day or so from here."

Silver stared at her, but Lyra thought she saw the woman's mind working. Without being too obvious, Lyra watched Silver's fingers where they moved slowly up and down her rifle barrel. For a minute, Lyra felt hope – but Silver crushed it a second later when she eased out of her chair and pointed her rifle at Lyra's chest. When she spoke, her voice was even, quiet. Decisive.

"Forget it, Lyra." Silver told her, eyes staring into Lyra's without blinking. "Go find another sidekick."

Lyra pursed her lips. "Silver, come on-"

"Just get the hell outta here. Don't make me ask again, Lyra. I got shit to do and this wild-goose chase of yours ain't it. Go on...while I'm being nice about it."

There was nothing else to do. If Lyra argued, Silver was liable to put a bullet through her chest. Silver was just like that. She'd agreed to hear Lyra out and she'd done just that, but it was a line that Silver wasn't interested in biting. It was that simple.

"Alright, Silver. I'm going."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author Note:** Thank you to everyone who had favorited or followed my story. I appreciate the support.

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**Chapter Three**

* * *

Inside his chest, Caleb's heart drummed a fevered rhythm and he found it impossible to slow down his breathing. His whole body shaking with adrenaline, Caleb tried to wrap the piece of cloth he'd torn from the leg of his jumpsuit around the bleeding hole in his arm. All he managed to do was drop it three times.

"Fuck!" he muttered and tossed the piece of cloth on the floor. Running the hand of his uninjured arm through his sweat-drenched hair, he closed his eyes and tried to keep himself from falling apart.

Officer Kendall and Officer Park hadn't tried to stop him or call out to him after seeing him crest the stairs to the upper levels of the Vault. They'd just opened fire. Their shots were poor – Vault security officers didn't have a lot of opportunity for practice – but what they lacked in skill, they made up for in effort. One of the bullets had caught him in the arm. Caleb was able to avoid most of the others by ducking down the stairs. He'd been pinned down and scared.

He looked at his options and saw only one way out and that was forward. Going back down would do nothing. Officer Mack was down the stairs and he was dead. Jonas was down the stairs and he was dead too. Down was a dead end.

He'd seen the blood spreading through the fabric of his jumpsuit sleeve and he knew. He had to go forward. He had to go out, like his father had apparently done. And that meant going through Officer Kendall and Officer Park. He'd waited until they were reloading and -

Someone was coming.

Caleb froze where he sat on the floor of the storage closet, holding his .10 mm pistol tightly in his good hand. He tried to listen, but his heart was hammering too loudly. Steps stopped in front of the closet door. He could see the shadow underneath the door. He held his breath, not knowing what to do, and raised his pistol. The door opened and his finger paused on the trigger.

"Amata?" he whispered.

A stricken, pale face stared down at him. Amata's clothing was askew and her eyes were haunted. "Caleb?"

She cringed away from him and he realized that he was still pointing his pistol at her. He lowered it and glanced outside the door. "Sorry, w-what's going on out there? Is everyone...gone?"

"Caleb, you're bleeding." Amata said, crouching down and touching his sleeve. If possible, her face grew paler still. "D-did my father's men do that?"

Caleb didn't answer right away, but saw an opportunity present itself. "Amata, listen. I need you to tie it off. Here, take this." He picked up the strip of cloth he'd dropped earlier and thrust it out to her. "Wrap it around my arm, hurry. I can't do it by myself."

"What? Oh, okay..." Her voice shook.

A few seconds later, his arm was encircled by the navy cloth and part of him was relieved. He wasn't going to bleed to death like Mack. He tried to stand up, but it was difficult. The room kept going in and out of focus.

"Caleb, I can get you to the entrance." She told him. Her eyes watched him as he wavered a little on his feet. "Dad...h-he's gone crazy and I...don't know what to do, except help you get out of here."

"Amata, we need to get out of here." Caleb amended. "If your Dad's gone crazy, you shouldn't stay here either...we can both go. We can find my dad. It'll be...it'll be okay."

"And do what?" She snapped, her pale face twisted in pain. "Go where? Out there? There's nothing out there, Caleb! The world was destroyed, remember? We learned that in history class when we were six! There's no life outside the Vault...we're born in the Vault...we-we're going to die in this Vault."

Tears filled Amata's eyes and spilled over. She cried and muttered nonsense and Caleb hated it, because Amata had never been one to cry. She'd always been the one with the clear head and the quick laugh. Something rose up in Caleb's chest then and he suddenly felt that he could make it, not because he necessarily had to make it, but that the two of them – Amata and he – had to make it, otherwise there was no point to anything anymore.

"Come on." He said, taking a deep breath and feeling his dizziness ease off. "We're going. Now."

"B-but Caleb-"

"No, no buts." He said, with more strength than he felt. "We're getting out of here."

* * *

#####

* * *

"Hey, ghoul!" Jericho snapped, slamming the door of Moriarty's Saloon behind him. "Get your ugly ass out here."

Gob felt his stomach knot up at the sound of the ex-raider's voice. He cast his eyes out of the storage room and saw the man stomping towards the bar, five o'clock shadow covering his jawline, and looking like absolute hell. Back hurting in remembered pain, Gob took a breath and walked out behind the bar. He remembered last night well enough and how he'd gotten slammed against the bar after trying to cut Jericho off. He only hoped the man had slept off the worse of his liquid rage.

"Oh, hey Jericho," Gob greeted. "What can I get you?"

"Don't act fuckin' cute with me. Where'd she go this mornin'?

Gob drew a blank. "Who? N-nova? I told you she was with a johnny when you asked."

A fist of steel reached out and caught Gob by the throat and nearly pulled him over the bar. He choked, reaching up to grab the man's wrists. It was useless.

"I ain't talkin' about that piece o' ass. I'm talkin' about Lyra."

"I saw...Lyra...this morning." Gob rasped out, trying and failing to pull enough air into his lungs.

"Yeah, I know you saw her this morning...bitch is always worryin' about your ass. I don't know if it's 'cause she feels sorry for you or if its 'cause she wants to fuck you. But you better keep those rotten hands to yourself, you got me?"

In the corner of his vision, Gob started seeing white sparks of light. If Jericho hadn't picked that minute to let him go, he was sure he'd have passed out right there. As it was, the ex-Raider did release him and he dropped down on top of the bar, panting. There was scattered laughter and muttering elsewhere in the room, but he couldn't make out any words.

"Y-yeah, sure...Jericho." he rasped when he had enough air in his lungs to speak. "Trust me, I ain't touchin' her."

"So where is hell is she?"

Gob closed his eyes, stomach knotting up again. "I..I don't know. She said she had some business...out in the Wastes. Some...some kind of business, I didn't ask what it was...we got some food, then she left and I came back here. That's all I know. Honest."

"Business, huh?" Jericho said. "She say how long this...business, would take?"

Gob straightened, rubbing his throat. "N-no. She didn't."

"Well, looks like you and me'll have plenty of time to become friends too, won't we? You can start by buying me a fuckin' drink. I'd hate to tell Moriarty how you went off the deep end and smashed some shit up while he was gone."

Gob's face ached. "Will that be beer or whiskey, Jericho?"

"Whiskey. Double-shot."

He was already grabbing a bottle from underneath the bar. "Right."

* * *

# # # # #

* * *

Caleb wavered on his feet. His body felt heavy, his eyes burned and his many injuries ached. Every nerve in his body was burning, frayed nearly beyond endurance. All he wanted to do was sleep, but there was no time. He still needed to get to the Overseer's office and punch in the code to open the tunnel that lead out of the Vault.

"Y-you bastard...you killed him." Amata hissed behind him. "You fucking killed him!"

Amata was in the corner, staring at him like he was some sort of monster. Tears had cut wavy wet streaks down her dirty, bruised face, but Caleb couldn't find it in himself to blame her.

"He deserved it, Amata." He said, hating himself. He felt like a monster. "He killed Jonas. He hurt you. He didn't...deserve mercy."

The Overseer lay in a pool of blood, his face smashed. After running from the other security guards, stumbling up the final flight of stairs, he'd been surprised with a blow to the head. When he'd manage to see straight again, he'd found himself locked in a room. Amata was on the other side of the door with her father, being punished. He'd seen her father hit her. Over and over again.

For warning him. For helping him. Waves of anger had built up in him and he snapped. He'd broken the window of the door with a lamp and unlocked the door. There was a cry of surprise and then Caleb was on the man, hitting him, beating him. Each blow he'd dealt to the frail, old man's face felt better than the last. Even Amata's crying and screaming hadn't stopped him.

"He was my father, Caleb!" Amata screamed, fresh tears pooling in her eyes. "And you...you killed him right in front of me!"

"We need to go." Caleb said, feeling the adrenaline in his body start to ebb. He didn't even know if he was talking to her anymore. Everything seemed surreal as exhaustion set in. "We need to get out of here and find my father."

"You go! I'm not going anywhere with you..." Amata sobbed. "And here, take this with you!"

Something hard hit him and pinged a little as it hit the floor in front of him. Caleb looked down and saw the holotape, the outside of it smeared with blood. He blinked, not comprehending.

"It's a holotape from your dad. The officer's took it from Jonas right before they...they" Her voice broke. "Anyway, maybe it says something about where he went. Now take it get out of here. The password for the tunnels is...is my name. Dad used my name as the password."

With effort, Caleb bent down and picked the metal casing up and slid it into one of his jumpsuit's pockets. Looking at the Overseer's unmoving body again, he felt his chest ache. Then his arm ache where he'd been shot. He felt the pain and the sorrow inside him growing. He heard Amata's sobbing and despair ate at him.

Why had all this happened?

"Amata," he said quietly. "Please come with me."

All his life, aside from his father or his friendship with Jonas, the only thing in his life that had brought him joy, that had held any sort of redeeming value or comfort had been Amata. She'd planned his tenth birthday party. She'd helped him with his job duties when he'd fallen behind trying to study for their graduation exams. Together they'd weathered the taunts and insults of the Tunnel Snakes together. Hell, they shared their first kisses together.

"J-just go, Caleb." Amata whispered. There was an iciness, an edge, to her voice that had never been there before. "Go find your father. I've got to stay here and bury mine."

* * *

#####

* * *

_Silver can rot in hell. _Lyra thought, picking her way carefully up the steep, rocky slope.

She was on the outskirts of Springvale and had turned towards Megaton when she felt it. The earth moved. A faint sound, like metal screaming against metal, echoed through the air. Uncertain and unnerved, Lyra lost her balance on the slope and fell, scraping knees and hands on the rough ground. Without thinking about it, she rolled over on her back and pulled a combat knife from the inside of her boot. Falling had caused her to lose her grip on her assault rifle and it had skidded to a stop a couple of feet from her.

The screeching reached its crescendo, then stopped. The earth returned to its normal stillness and Lyra waited, scanning the hills around her for the source of the noise, but the earth did not move again. She listened, but the sound was gone. Slowly, Lyra got to her feet and went to retrieve her rifle. She wandered around, first one way and the another, picking her way carefully over the uneven terrain. Once the initial shock and uncertainty left her, an insatiable curiosity took its place.

Her eyes scanned the hills until they came to rest on the high ridgeline overlooking the dessicated ruins of Springvale, the small cliffside where the mysterious entrance to Vault 101 was supposed to be located. Her eyes squinted, wondering if anyone really lived underground.

Vault 101 was something of an urban legend in Megaton, with some settlers claiming it was still filled with those privileged enough to buy a place of security, hidden away from the horrors and the aftermath of the Great War. The legend, if one chose to believe Manya's ramblings, was that the original builders of Megaton were those who'd come seeking sanctuary in Vault 101, only to be turned away callously by the Overseer inside. Lyra had never quite believed the tales, but she decided to sate her overwhelming curiosity anyway. Turning away from Megaton, she ascended the rough and hidden pathway up the ridgeline.

With a pulse quickening the higher she climbed, she kept her rifle close at hand. The minutes passed and no more rumblings or sounds disturbed the quiet desolation of the Wasteland. Still, the air felt electric. The flesh of her arms rose in anticipation despite the dry heat of the day and finally she reached it – an opening in the otherwise sheer cliff-face.

The groan of door hinges long unused and rusted inside the opening made Lyra jump. She brought her rifle up on instinct, the butt of the gun resting firmly against her shoulder. She eased forward into the shadow cast by the ridge and found the recessed opening visible now. What was more, she could see a figure approaching. Her heart started to race.

"Stop right there!" she yelled, finger on the trigger. "I'm warning you!"

He was tall, slender, and deathly pale. His blonde hair, limp and dirty, was stuck to his face. He was holding one of his arms close to his body and his clothes were grimy, spattered with blood. He didn't walk forward so much as he shuffled, feet kicking up stale dust that floated away on the slight breeze. Her body tingling with adrenaline, Lyra licked her lips and tasted the ancient dust on her tongue.

"Who are you?" Her voice was quieter this time.

There was no answer from the shuffling figure. He just kept coming forward. The closer he came, the more Lyra had the feeling that something was wrong. From the way he carried his arm and the blood covering his jumpsuit, he was probably injured, but there was no way of knowing how bad. The unfocused eyes suggested something else – maybe disorientation, maybe a head injury.

"Hey, kid," she called, lowering her rifle. "You alright?"

The figure stopped. Behind wire-rimmed glasses, his eyes seemed to focus on her for the first time. The next second, they were rolling back into his head and he pitched forward, crumpling like a paper doll in the dirt.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author Note: **I don't own Fallout 3. I'm just having fun with the characters. Also, if it pleases you, let me know what you guys think.

* * *

**Chapter Four**

* * *

He was heavier than he looked, she decided.

She already tried gripping him around his skinny torso and dragging him with her, but it couldn't be done. With him dead weight as he was, she could only move him a few feet before having to stop and either get a better grip, or having to rest.

Lyra was strong; she was used to hardship and manual labor. That said, dragging an unconscious Vault-dweller nearly two hours through raider- and monster-infested Wasteland was impossibile, even for her. If she'd had help, that would've been one thing. Silver was closest, but there was no point in asking. The woman had all but booted Lyra out of her front door; even thinking of going back and asking for help – or worse, shelter for herself and some unknown kid – was tantamount to suicide.

"If I had a tarp," Lyra said aloud, falling back into bad habits. "I could just rig up a pole litter or drag him back on it. And I sure as hell can't leave him here and come back with help."

Looking around, she decided the best thing to do was just stay where they were until he woke up. If anyone else came out of the Vault, someone less injured than he was, she'd would ask for help. Unless, of course, they came out with the intention of hurting her too. Then they would be dead and she would be back at square one again.

"So, I'm stuck here. With you, out here, with a little bit of food, one bottle of water and some good intentions." She told the boy's unconscious form. "Fuckin' peachy."

She sighed, grabbing the boy around the torso again and dragging him as far as the inner wall of the cave-like opening. There he was out from in front of the opening and better protected in case of a firefight. Kneeling down beside him, she took everything out of her pack and put it underneath the boy's head.

"I'll make a fire if it turns out that we have to stay the night out here."

Now that she had a plan, Lyra took the time to look him over. He was young, maybe a teenager, maybe in his twenties. His blonde hair was cropped short on one side, the strands longer on the other; there was blood in his hair and a knot that said he'd been hit in the head at least once. His glasses had fallen into the dirt when he'd fallen and she pulled them out of her pocket now and put them back on his face. He looked older with the glasses, she thought. It was surprising to her how pale he was, though Lyra supposed shouldn't be – if he was from the Vault and had spent his whole life underground.

She shuddered, thinking about it. No fresh air. No sunlight. Nowhere to go.

_Forget that. I'd rather die._ She thought. _Give me the Wastes any day. _

Turning her attention back his injuries, Lyra felt for a pulse on the arm sporting the ancient-looking PipBoy. As she did, the scavenger in her wondered if the old tech was fully functional; the opportunist in her wondered how much she could get for it in the event the boy didn't pull through before she got back to Megaton.

Tearing her eyes away from it, she checked his limbs and his torso. When she was finished, the verdict was better than she expected. He was certainly beat-up a little – light bruising on his face and neck, a few lacerations, a couple of radroach bites – but his arm worried her. The bandage he'd wrapped around it was soaked with blood. Against her better judgement, she untied the bloody strip of cloth and grimaced. It was a bullet wound. Lifting up his arm, she felt the back of it, but couldn't find where the bullet might've exited. She blew out a breath.

"Okay, so you got shot – but from the looks of it, the caliber was small enough that it didn't go through, meaning its still in there." She found that talking out loud helped her think. "But unfortunately for you, I'm not a surgeon. Last thing you need is for me to go rummaging around in there for a stray bullet and knick an artery. So you'll just have to deal with that shit until we get back. At the very least, it's stopped bleeding."

Lyra bite the inside of her cheek. "I got one hit of Med-X. Better to use it now, I think."

She took her knife in hand and carefully cut away the fabric on his injured arm. Once the wound was revealed, she grimaced again. Tossing the dirty cloth away, she rummaged in her pile of supplies and grabbed her water bottle. It wasn't the cleanest water, but it was better than nothing.

Needing more fabric, she opened the front of her leather armor, removed her undershirt and tore the thinner, cleaner cloth into strips. She wet some of them with the water and carefully cleaned around the bullet hole. Another, smaller strip of cloth was dampened and placed against the wound itself, then covered with a second. The second she wrapped around his arm like a bandage and secured it in place.

"Okay, kid." She muttered, grabbing the metal box containing the Med-X needle and its combination anaesthetic and antibiotic. "This is gonna hurt like hell, but hopefully, you're too far gone to feel it."

She rolled his arm over and exposed the soft inner portion of his elbow. Her eyes searched for a vein – an easy task the pallor of his skin. When she found a good one, she sucked in a preparatory breath and inserted the needle. He jumped a little, but didn't wake. She let out the breath she'd been holding and eased in the liquid.

"There, that should take the edge off." She said, then leaned down and placed her ear to the boy's chest. His heartbeat didn't sound as strong as she would've liked, but it was steady. His chest rose and fell evenly against her ear. "For now, at least, you're alive."

First-aid administered to the best of her ability, Lyra sat back on her heels and replaced the needle back in its box. Looking around, she gathered up the dirty remnants of her shirt. She stuffed them into one pocket of her bag and decided to worry about them again once they reached Megaton. Surely, they could be salvaged.

"Now, what to do in the meantime..."

Lyra's eyes sought out the wooden door that the boy had exited, the one that led deeper into the cliffside. Licking her lips, she got up and walked over to it. She had no trouble pulling it open and she peered into the semi-darkness. Opposite her position, she saw a faint circular outline and two flickering bulbs next to it.

Throwing a glance back to her charge, Lyra considered her options. She would need a light if she wanted to investigate the circular doorway, but she didn't think she had one. There was always the option of propping the wooden door open; there were bound to be plenty of rocks she could use as doorstops. She looked around and spied a suitable rock for the job and smiled.

"One look couldn't hurt."

Propping the door open with her rock, Lyra entered a wide tunnel leading farther into the ridge. The walls, ceiling, and floor was all made of earth and at the end, she saw that the earth gave way to sheet metal. Three steps lead up and onto a platform situated directly in front of the circular door. There were some odds and ends, junk really, scattered around the opening; no doubt they were the leavings of people who had tried and failed to enter the impenetrable underground shelter.

Lyra approached cautiously, rifle at the ready, but nothing moved. In the dirt beneath her feet she saw the stumbling footprints of the unconscious boy and some blood from his arm on the metal steps. The bulbs beside the door continued to blink, but the flashing was irregular. Yellow, white. Yellow, white.

When she'd ascended the few steps to the doorway, she reached out and touched the metal. Unlike the air around her, it was cool, impersonal. She ran her hands along the seam, marveling at the craftsmanship, the impenetrable facade.

"Wonder what the kid did to get kicked outta here..." she wondered, struggling to recall any other point in time when Vault 101 had opened and spat out a human being. She thought of his injuries, the bullet wound. "Did he...even want to leave?"

* * *

#####

* * *

Caleb opened his eyes. Above him there was only an earthen ceiling; its uneven surface a play of light and shadow that he couldn't place. He squinted and blinked, trying to make sense of the jumbled imagery in his mind. Jonas' dead face. Flashing lights and Amata crying. A pool of blood slowly spreading on the smooth concrete floor of the Vault. And just like, the fragments of his nightmarish escape from Vault 101 coalesced into something tangible and he bolted upright.

He was in a cave, or so he thought. And he was in pain. A great deal of pain.

Caleb's muscles spasmed and clenched. He bit his lip against the pain, an agonized groan escaping him. His arm was on fire and he drew it in towards his chest, tears stinging his eyes. Engrossed as he was with misery, he didn't hear the footsteps approach – he only felt the rough hands and the firm pressure of someone forcing him down.

"Nice to see you're up." An unfamiliar voice said. Squinting in the poor light, he saw a woman's face staring at him. She was dark, her eyes and her hair looked black in the shifting light. She gave him a sardonic smile, one of her front teeth chipped in the corner. "You're foolin' yourself though, if you think you're going anywhere. Lie back and take it easy."

"W-who are you?" he managed and did as she asked. "Where am I?"

"Outside Vault 101." she answered, taking her hands away and sitting back on her heel. "You came stumbling towards me. You were injured and then...bam, you went out like a light. I checked you out, cleaned you up as best I could."

Caleb took her words in, grimaced as his muscles tensed and spasmed again. Hands were on him again, this time massaging his muscles – his uninjured arm, his chest, his shoulders, his legs – in a sort of half-hearted, clinical manner. He tried to look at the woman again, but the pain was too much. He closed his eyes and whimpered, cursing at how weak he sounded.

"The cramping'll get to you." she muttered. "Here, give me a second."

The hands left and there was noise and rummaging; Caleb felt his pain ease off as the cramping lessened. He took a relieved breath, then the woman's rough hands were holding out a bottle of cloudy-looking water and two white pills to him. He recognized the Buff-out when he saw it. It was a chem used by drug-addicts, and was basically a narcotic – calling it a muscle relaxer, while technically correct, was an understatement.

"Sit up and take these, kid." She told him, thrusting them towards him impatiently. "Swallow some water, if it'll help you get 'em down."

He stared at the offered bottle and his stomach rolled. "W-what's wrong with your water?"

The woman didn't blink. "It's dirty. What does it look like?"

"I-I can't drink that."

"Then take the pills without it." The woman shrugged. "If you chew 'em up, you'd better hurry, 'cause they taste like shit...but they'll make the cramping stop."

Caleb hesitated, but took the offered pills with a muttered thanks. They were relatively small, so he figured it be best to just chew them up. Even if they tasted terrible, the cramping was worse...and he really didn't like the look of the water. Licking his lips, Caleb popped the white tablets in his mouth and started chewing. Low laughter made him glance over at the woman.

"Told you they taste like shit." She chuckled, standing up. He choked and grimaced as he finished the pills off and the woman held up the bottle of water where he could see it.

"You sure you don't wanna wash it down? You've been out for hours and you could use the water. We won't get anymore 'til we walk into Megaton tomorrow morning. That's a good fifteen hours or so from now, kid."

He shook his head. "I think I'm good. Keep your water. And stop calling me kid."

Once the last remnants of the pills were gone from his tongue, Caleb glanced around and took in his surroundings. He could see the wooden door he'd exited after leaving the Vault about five or six meters in front of him. A small fire burned to his right and nearby was a small pile of what looked like junk. The woman – still nameless, he realized – had moved away from him and sat drinking the water herself.

He watched her throat move as she swallowed and shuddered in spite of himself. How could she drink it?

"My name's Caleb Marx, by the way." He told her. "What's yours?"

The woman sighed as she finished off the water and tossed the empty bottle on top of the small pile of junk near the fire. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and got up to retrieve something from the far side of the cave they were in. When she returned, he saw the assault rifle and felt his skin grow clammy.

"Lyra." She answered, eyes on the weapon.

"Lyra what?"

"It's just Lyra." Glancing up at him, she smiled. "Now that we know each other, why don't you tell me why you came stumbling out of that Vault, a bullet in your arm, when ain't none of us seen one of you Vaulties for...oh, who knows how long?"

Without breaking eye contact with him, she produced a clip from one of the pockets of her clothing and shoved it into the loading mechanism of the rifle. The smile on her face was wolfish, the ruddy light of the fire glinting off her teeth.

Caleb swallowed. "I'm looking for my father."

"Your father, huh?"

Caleb nodded, still eyeing the woman's weapon. "Yeah, apparently, he left while I was asleep...but I can hardly believe he would do that. I mean, we were born in the Vault. We've lived our entire lives in the-"

He stopped when he noticed he was reciting what the Overseer had always told them over the intercom every morning before giving out the work orders. Everything they did was in service to the Vault, to each other. Or so they were always taught. With his father leaving so suddenly, without any warning at all, he didn't know what to think.

"That's pretty shitty of him, don't you think?"

The woman, Lyra, had put her weapon down and was sorting through the pile of junk near the fire. She sorted several bottles and containers together, boxes what looked like ammo went by themselves, and some shiny, circular pieces of metal were dangling on a length of cord. The pieces of metal she quickly stuffed into another pocket of her clothing and met his eyes when she saw he was watching her.

"Well, you gonna answer me?" Lyra asked.

"Yeah," he answered, distracted. "I guess so. I just wish I knew why he left, you know? Why didn't he tell me he was leaving...I could've went with him. Hell, I might've been able to talk him out of it. I mean, who wants to be out here anyway?"

"You have no idea. You haven't even seen what 'out here' is like yet. Don't get me wrong, kid, living out here ain't no piece of cake – hell, it's like walking through a minefield most of the time, but I'd rather take my chances out here then in one of those underground death-traps you called home."

It wasn't that her words bothered him. Taken by themselves, he supposed they had the hard sheen of truth. The life he'd lived in the Vault hadn't been ideal. In most cases, it was tedious and unfulfilling. But it was the only life he'd known, the only life he'd ever thought of living. No, it wasn't her words, it was the way she'd said them. It was the superior way she'd not only dismissed where he'd come from, but also dismissed him by default.

As if his life, or his father's life, had had no value until now.

"Shut up." He snapped. "Don't talk about shit you don't know anything about. I may not have seen much out here, but my view right now is hardly anything to write home about. In fact, it's pretty fuckin' ugly."

The woman didn't so much as blink. Instead, he saw the wolfish smile from earlier return. Picking up her rifle, she stood up and cross the space between them. She pressed the barrel of the rifle against his chest and looked down at him.

Maybe it was the faint buzz he felt from the Buff-out, maybe it was because he was still out of it after all the turmoil he'd experienced up to this point, but he didn't shrink away from her stare or the rifle.

"Bold words for an injured Vault-brat with a rifle barrel to his chest." She said. "You would think you'd know better than insult the person who planned to lead you to safety tomorrow. Guess you're more foolish than I thought."

"I think if you were gonna kill me, you'd have done it while I was passed out." Caleb returned, still angry. "And anyway, how the hell do I know if you're leading me to safety or not? You could just as well be leadin' me into some damn trap."

Lyra's smile widened as she lowered her rifle. "Well, you may not be the smartest, kid...but no one can doubt you got a set of balls. That's something at any rate."

Chuckling to herself, she turned her back on him and returned to her spot by the fire. He had the impression that his defiant answer had put her in a good mood. She picked two small boxes out of her pile of things and tossed one in his direction. She opened the other one herself. Caleb watched her draw some kind of stick out of the box, pull a grey thing off of it, and pop it into her mouth. Chewing briefly, she continued.

"And you're right, you know. If I had wanted to kill you, I'd have done it by now. Then I'd have stripped your body and took everything I could carry back to Megaton….probably would've sold it too. Sold it cheap."

"You might want to eat that." She motioned to the box by his side. "You didn't drink any water, but you need to eat something. It's only an hour or so to Megaton from here, but we might run into trouble and I don't need you passing out on me in the middle of a firefight."

Uncertain, Caleb reached out and took the box in question. He wasn't familiar with the packaging. "What is it?"

"Crispy squirrel bits. Try 'em, they're pretty good. And they'll keep the Buff-out from making you queasy."

He grimaced, but opened the box and withdrew a stick. There were about four or five 'bits' of squirrel on each stick and three sticks in his box. Caleb braced himself and ate one. Surprised at the mild taste and crunchy texture, he finished his squirrel bits in short order.

Glancing at the woman out of the corner of his eye, he saw her staring into the fire. The ruddy light warmed her dark features and gave her a wild appearance that seemed fitting considering their surroundings. Then he looked down at himself – clad in his dusty, blood covered Vault 101 jumpsuit, with strips of dirty cloth covering a bullet wound in his arm – and felt decidedly out of place.

What was he even doing out here?

* * *

#####

* * *

Gob glanced over at the ex-Raider and sighed. Night had come and the man was lying on the counter top, empty bottles of beer and glasses of whiskey scattered around him, snoring loudly. Any residual terror that Gob might've felt towards Jericho had faded along with the man's consciousness. As there was no one else in the bar, and Moriarty wasn't due to return for another hour or two, the ghoul had a rare moment of peace and quiet.

Grateful for even five minutes of rest, Gob cast another glance at Jericho and then walked around to the other side of the counter and took a seat in one of the stools. It was the first time he'd sat down all day and he sighed a little as he settled his bones on the torn upholstery. Even Nova had a break from her usual employment and she came down from the second floor of the Saloon now. They met eyes as she reached the bottom, then her eyes swept over the room. Gob saw the question before she ever asked it.

"There's no one else, Nova. Just us and this asshole here." He indicated the ex-Raider. "But he's so deep in his cups, he won't woke up for another two or three hours."

"Hon, you think I could get something to drink?"

Gob gave her the once-over and saw the exhaustion in her face. The faint shaking in her frame. "Yeah, sure. Come over here and rest. I'll get you something to eat too. You need it."

"Oh, Gob...don't bother." Nova was quick to say, waving her hand. "I ain't got nothing to pay for it with and you know-"

"I got some caps." The ghoul said, taking a breath and climbing to his feet again. "Lyra gave me some this morning…said she had some to spare. And trust me, you need it more that I do."

"You're such a sweetie, Gob." Nova muttered, moving her hand over her face. "I-I'm sorry that...well, I would, you know. If I had a choice."

"I know." The words were clipped, the nerve struck as sore as it ever was, would always be. The worst part of it all was the Gob understood the reason why. "Get cleaned up. I'll have it ready in just a second. Beer right?"

"Yeah."

Nova disappeared into the bathroom near the back of the Saloon and Gob shuffled his way around in the kitchen. Once Nova's food was ready and her drink placed on the bar, he returned to his barstool. She joined him about ten minutes later, surprising him when she picked up her food and her beer and relocated so that she sat down next to him. She eased into her chair slowly, groaning a little.

"You hurt?" he asked, unable to help himself. With Nova, he never could help himself.

She didn't answer right away, taking several moments to drink her beer instead. But Gob saw the way one of her hands clenched on top of the counter, the way she avoided his eyes.

"You are." He answered for her. "Was it that last one? Did he...?"

"Thanks for the food, Gob." Nova said, ignoring him. "Will you tell Lyra that she's...well, she helped you, but...it ended up helping me too. Could you...thank her for me?"

"He did." Gob sighed, rubbing his finger through what little hair remained on his head.

"Don't worry about it, hon." The redhead finally said, both validating and dismissing his concern at the same time. "It just...happens sometimes."

The silence was full – full of all the unanswered questions and half-assed excuses they'd exchanged over their many shared years in hell. They sat there and wished they were somewhere else. And somebody else. And realized at the end of all the wishing that they were never going to do either, because the choice had never really been theirs to begin with…

"Gob," Nova said, voice barely above a whisper. "I have time, if you wanna...well, you know."

Gob closed his eyes.

"Nova, please...don't ask me like that. I'm not...one of them. I..." He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face much like she'd done earlier. "You don't really want to. I know you don't."

"You don't know shit." Nova answered, reaching out and grabbing his hand. "Just because I say...what I say to people who come in here doesn't make it true, okay? I have to say those things. You know that better than anyone."

"That doesn' t make it any easier to hear." He glanced over at her. "It doesn't make the words hurt any less. Or keep me from feelin' like an asshole when you...actually do."


	5. Chapter 5

**Author Note: **Thank you to R**agingceliac** for their thoughtful and kind review. I appreciate the feedback.

* * *

**Chapter Five**

* * *

Lyra bolted upright, a scream torn from her throat. Her eyes flew open, vision blurry with sleep and unshed tears, but all she saw above her was the earthen ceiling. She panted, the collar of her leather armor tight and suffocating around her throat. She couldn't breathe. Clawing at the buckles, she tried to open them. Fingers, uncoordinated, slipped. Lyra cursed, all the while wondering why her days with the raiders kept returning to her mind.

Her fingers on her maimed hand wouldn't function the way she wanted, she bit her lips and tried harder. Finally, the buckles released and she tore the armer away from her throat and her chest and she sat there, reveling in the cool air against her skin.

"Dammit." She muttered, scrubbing her good hand over her face. It came away wet with sweat and she wiped it off on the leg of her pants. There was a noise to her left and she glanced over, seeing the kid from the Vault staring at her. Belatedly, she remembered how she'd used her undershirt for his bandages the day before and that her tits were hanging out.

"Ah, fuck me." She cursed, her head falling back as she yanked the leather closed again.

This wasn't the shack she shared with Jericho, she reminded herself, this was the Wasteland. And she'd probably just embarrassed the hell out of the Vault kid. Glancing back at him a second time, she saw Caleb's face was flushed and he'd averted his eyes with a clear look of guilt.

She swore again, feeling out of sorts. "Dammit, kid! You act like you've never seen a pair of tits before. Did they spay you in that Vault or what?"

Lyra rolled over on her side, away from him, and rebuckled her armor. She left more give in the straps and found that helped with the feeling of being strangled. Deciding she'd had just about enough of babysitting, and needing a little time alone after her nightmare, Lyra got to her feet and prepared to go outside the entrance of the cave.

As soon as she was on her feet, the vertigo and the nausea hit. The cave tilted sideways and her vision danced. All the strength left her legs and she collapsed on the ground near the dying embers of the fire, retching as everything in her stomach came back up. She choked and tried to push herself away from her mess with her arms. She got a foot away and then the cramping started. She gritted her teeth, unable to stop the gutteral sound that left her mouth as she curled up against the pain. Her stomach rolled and she closed her eyes, trying to keep from getting sick again.

Of all the sensations though, the way her muscles knotted and released – not only in her hand, but in her shoulders and arms as well – was the worst. Withdrawal was always bad, but Lyra hadn't had symptoms for a long time. She should've seen the signs – the blurry vision when she'd awakened, the lack of coordination in her hand when she'd tried to unbuckle her armor. The aftermath of the nightmare had kept her mind off of her symptoms.

On her side, curled up against the pain, Lyra retched again. She didn't understand. She always kept Buff-out on her, always made sure she had another dose when she needed it...

_The last two pills in my bag._She thought, remembering. _I gave 'em to the kid._

From behind her, there was the sound of movement. The Vault kid was beside her, injured arm held to his chest. He looked sick himself, swallowing hard as he reached out and touched her shoulder.

"Hey, are you okay?"

Sick and in pain, Lyra didn't have the ability to glare. "Does it...look like I'm alright?"

His pale face flushed and pursed his lips. "Look I'm asking if there's anything I can do, okay? What the hell's wrong with you?"

"Withdrawal." She told him, then closed her eyes and tried to breathe her way though them. If she waited them out, they would probably ease off. Maybe. "Bad cramps. I get 'em when I don't take my Buff-out."

"Great, so you're a damn chem junkie?" She felt the Vaultie start to awkwardly rub her arms and her shoulders like she'd done for him. "You're the one supposed to be getting us to safety today, remember? Who the hell's gonna save you?"

"Fuck you," she hissed, then groaned as a particularly hard cramp caused her to double up. "If I hadn't...felt sorry for your ass yesterday, I wouldn't have...ran out to begin with."

"Oh." The hands rubbing her shoulders stopped and she heard the boy curse too. "Sorry, I didn't know."

He didn't speak after that, just stayed by her side as she groaned and shook on the ground.

The minutes passed like hours after that and the cave faded in and out of Lyra's perception. She stayed on the ground and did the only thing she could. She waited it out. She cursed, panted and groaned, she doubled up and retched until nothing came up and then she dry-heaved instead. And then, at long last, her body just gave up. Covered in sweat, black hair sticking to her flushed cheeks and her forehead, Lyra opened her eyes and saw the light streaming into the cave's mouth – higher and much brighter than it had been when she'd first collapsed.

Vision still a little fuzzy around the edges, but with a clear mind, Lyra eased her way to her elbows, then to her hands. Finally, she was able to sit cross-legged in the dirt, breathing as though she'd just sprinted her way to the D.C. Ruins and back. She reached up to push the hair from her face, then looked for the boy. He was sitting in his place next to the wall, staring at her. His pale face was gray, ashen.

He swallowed hard before speaking. "Are you...okay now?"

"Yeah." She filled her lungs with the dry, stale air and exhaled slowly. "For now, at least."

"W-what happened? Why did you collapse like that?"

Lyra shook her head, grimacing as her head throbbed in response to the movement.

"Later. Right now, we need to go. The cramping is gone, but I need to get back to Megaton. If we don't get killed on the way, I'll tell you the story sometime."

She left it at that and tried to stand up. When she wavered a little, he started to get up too, but she dismissed the help with a wave. The last thing she needed was him hanging on her and trying to help. He'd just get in the way.

"Don't worry about me, kid." She told him and waved her hand in what she hoped was the direction of her stuff. "Just...do me a favor and throw all that shit in my bag."

"Okay," he said. "And stop calling me kid."

Lyra watched him, taking note of the grimace that cross his own face from time to time and the stiff way he held himself. He was in pain too and Lyra wasn't surprised. A gunshot wasn't something one just bounced back from, but she was glad he wasn't whining about it. Once they'd gathered all their things, Lyra slowly led the way towards the entrance.

* * *

#####

* * *

The world outside Vault 101 was bigger than Caleb had ever imagined it could be. The sky, bright and blue and immense, made him dizzy with how high, how impossibly high it seemed. Looking around him, nearly blinded by the light of a sun he'd never seen before, he saw the great expanse of the Capital Wasteland and just stood there, awe-struck. The rolling hills, the wide open spaces, dotted here and there with remnants of buildings, roads, towns – all the things he'd read about but never thought he would see with his own eyes – lay at his feet.

"Is it...always so bright?" he asked stupidly, holding up his good arm to keep the glare from the sun at bay. Even then, he squinted in the light. Taking a step forward, he stumbled on the uneven terrain and nearly collided with the woman in front of him.

"Yeah, it is." she answered, putting a hand against his chest to keep him away. "But only in the daytime. You gonna be good walking or am I gonna have to drag to you to Megaton anyway?"

"I think I'll be okay." he answered, deciding to ignore the impatience in the woman's voice. "Just...give me a minute."

"I give you too many and I collapse…we need to keep moving. You can sightsee another time." She started forward, not giving him the chance to reply.

Despite her affliction earlier, Lyra kept a quick pace and Caleb struggled to keep up with her. The glare of the sun kept his eyes halfway closed for a while, but slowly his eyes adjusted. She didn't look behind her as they walked, nor did she speak which gave him plenty of time to think. It was hard to keep his eyes trained on the back of the woman in front of him. The world was simply so large and different, so spectacular to eyes unused to the sight, that he kept falling behind.

His mind churned at a feverish rate, bringing up memories and lessons he'd studied during his time in school, about the history of the world, about the conflicts that led to its destruction. It wasn't that hard to reconcile the end of the world he'd only read about and the ravaged landscape before him. At the very least, thinking about that stuff kept thoughts about his dad and Amata at bay.

"How do you guys live out here?" he asked, unable to imagine it. "Where do you get water? What do you eat?"

The woman sighed and stopped her frenzied pace long enough to turn around and look at him. In the sunlight, her short black hair glistened with sweat and the deep tan of her skin looked off somehow, sallower, paler. He wondered if she was feeling unwell again.

"We just live." She told him. "We drink whatever water is available or we pay a high price for the clean stuff. We eat whatever we can...usually before it tries to eat us. Now stop talking and move."

They began walking again. Soon, Caleb's mind turned to other things. The way she'd screamed in the darkness and startled him awake. The way she'd thoughtlessly thrown open her clothing and...his face blushed just remembering.

It wasn't that he hadn't seen a woman's body before – he and Amata had fooled around once or twice when they'd been a couple years younger – but that was different than last night. There was a certain lack of shame about this woman that he wasn't used to, a freedom and a willfulness, that Amata had never had. She'd seemed angry, not embarrassed – as if she'd forgotten about him. Then she'd just rolled over and, just as angry, tried to stalk away.

When she'd collapsed, he'd been doubly surprised and even more uncertain what to do. He watched with growing horror and dismay as she'd shuddered and cried out in agony, vomiting and curling up on herself. He'd remembered the dirty water she'd had and wondered if she'd gotten some kind of illness.

"Is...the water out here really that bad?" he asked, breaking the silence they'd been walking in a second time. He thought he saw her shoulders stiffen. "That you have to pay for clean water?"

"Yeah, that's right."

"What do you pay with?"

"Bottle caps." Lyra said. This time she didn't stop moving. "There's no real system to it. A cap is a cap. Things are bought and sold for this many caps or that many caps. A clean bottle of water will cost you about a dozen or so. Maybe more, depending on where you are and how close the next town is."

He processed the information. "Is that what I saw on that string you put in your pocket last night? Bottle caps?"

She didn't answer.

"Lyra?"

"What, goddammit?" she snapped. Turning around, she retraced her steps until she was right in front of him. One of her fingers jabbed him in the chest. "You gonna talk me to death the whole entire way? Look, kid, I understand you were in living underneath a rock your whole life, but let me give you a piece of advice...watch it with all the questions, okay?"

"What's wrong with asking questions?" He frowned. "How else am I gonna find my dad out here except to ask people things? Why are you so bent out of shape anyway?"

"You keep flappin' your damn gums like that and you're gonna show how much of an idiot you are. People get the idea you're that wet behind the ears and you're gonna find yourself in a tight spot, you get me?"

Caleb sighed and held his injured arm tighter against his chest. He didn't understand what the problem was, but then...he hadn't understood much of the last twenty-four hours. Having Lyra angry with him, yet again, was difficult and confusing. Some of what he was thinking must've shown on his face, because Lyra pursed her lips and stared at him hard.

"How old are you anyway?"

He looked at her and met her eyes. They were blue, like his, but there was an emotion in them he couldn't read. "I'm nineteen. Why?"

"Who put the bullet in your arm?" The expression on her face didn't change, but her brow furrowed as she asked another question, completely ignoring his.

"One of the security officers...Parks. That was his last name."

"Why'd he shoot you?"

Caleb looked away from her. Suddenly, he felt uncomfortable. He didn't want to think about his ordeal before leaving the Vault. It made him remember Mack, the way his eyes widened in shock when Caleb shot him. And Amata, looking at him like he was a stranger, despite all they'd gone through together. And the Overseer, dead on the floor, his face nothing but a bloody mess.

"Thought you said not to ask so many questions." He said darkly. "Why're you giving me the third degree now?"

"Because I wanted to give you a taste of your own medicine. Because I'm wonderin' if you were really as naive as you seem to be." She answered, stepping closer to him. "Or if maybe you're just good at playing the fool."

Caleb smelled sweat and hints of her earlier sickness as she got closer and unconsciously, he stepped back, trying to get away from it. From her. Did she see something in his face? Could she tell that he was a murderer?

"What the hell are you talking about?"

She didn't answer right away, just pursed her lips and stared at him. He swallowed, feeling uncomfortable. Finally, she looked away and readjusted her rifle on her shoulder.

"Nevermind. Don't worry about it."

The strange exchange was over and Caleb was left to wonder about it the rest of the way to Megaton. The structure that met his sight after Lyra announced they'd arrived was not as impressive as he had hoped it would be. All he saw as they approached was a rusted, haphazard metal wall, about thirty or forty feet high. As they got closer, he saw a more definite break in the patchwork of corrugated metal and a figure standing in front of it. A very shiny figure sporting, of all things, a deputy's hat.

"Welcome to Megaton." The robot said as they walked up to it. "Please watch your step."

"Deputy Weld." His companion deadpanned and walked past the robot without another word. Caleb, as he passed by, stared at the mechanized humanoid in wonder. He'd seen robots before, but none like this. That it was still functional was amazing.

"That's Deputy Weld." Lyra told him, not sparing the robot a second glance. "He's the gatekeeper of Megaton. Once he's seen you, he'll usually remember you the next time you come through. Don't shoot him. In fact, don't pull a weapon around him unless there's a good reason – if you do, he'll fuckin' kill you. A couple of newcomers didn't get that information until it was too late."

Caleb swallowed and looked back. The robot hadn't moved from its spot, but he saw it's metal chassis rotating as it looked around – staying vigilant.

"Right."

There was the screeching of metal on metal and the break in the wall began to open. As it slide out of the way, Caleb saw rusted shacks and ramps as the actual town proper came into view. It was an ugly...rickety-looking. Uninspiring.

"We're headin' to Doc Church's place first." Lyra told him, not bothering to check to see if he was following. "We need to get that arm of yours looked at and I need to buy some chems. Doc Church is a dick, but he's good at what he does."

Doc Church's place, as Lyra called it, was a small makeshift clinic on the main alley in Megaton. As they climbed the metal grating that served as a ramp, Caleb stared at the two-headed cow lowing as they passed. It was a robust animal, he thought, if one could get passed the anomaly of two heads. When she saw him staring, Lyra gave a low chuckle.

"That's Daisy. You might as well consider her Doc Church's mascot," she said as they reached a door.

Once she'd opened it and pushed him inside, a tall black man came around the corner. With his dirty white shirt, unevenly clipped hair, and two day's worth of scruff decorating his jawline, Doc Church hardly put Caleb in mind of a professional doctor. If that wasn't enough to make him question the man's credentials, the words that came out of his mouth would have done it.

"If you're coming in here, you'd better be dyin'," the man snapped. "I don't have all goddamn day to play nursemaid. Now what do you want?"

Lyra, for her part, barely even blinked at the rude greeting.

"Listen, Doc, I need you to dig a bullet out of my friend here and I need you to not be an asshole about it. Oh, and I hope you got some Buff-out too...otherwise, I'm gonna puke all over your nice, sterilized work area."

Before Caleb or the Doc could say anything else, Lyra did exactly that. Then, she was on the floor, groaning and sweating as the cramping started all over again. Doc Church swore and pushed Caleb out of the way.

"Fuckin' junkie," he muttered, roughly sliding his arms around Lyra's body and physically dragging her into the back of the clinic. When he saw Caleb standing there, dumbfounded, he cursed. "Don't just stand there like a damn fool. Help me or get the fuck out."


	6. Chapter 6

**Author Note: **Mild sexual scene ahead. You've been warned. ;)

* * *

**Chapter Six**

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Caleb followed the dark-skinned man into the back of the clinic, where several narrow cots were pushed against the walls. Doc Church, his arms still firmly secure around Lyra's torso, dragged the groaning woman to one of the beds and sat her down on it. He looked at Caleb.

"Grab her legs and put them up here." The man ordered. "You can do that with one arm, can't you?

The blonde teenager didn't say anything, but did what he was asked to do. Bending at the knee, he snaked his arm behind Lyra's knees and lifted her legs up. As soon as they were over the bed, his arm gave out and they dropped unceremoniously on the bed.

"Sorry." He hissed, but Lyra didn't seem to hear him.

Her skin was slick with sweat as she curled in on herself. Her blue eyes when she opened them where unfocused and he thought she looked just as she had in the sun. Sallow and unwell. Once his task was done, Caleb was shoved out of the way by the doctor; unbalanced, he stumbled and nearly fell. The other man had a small metal box in one hand and a bottle in the other, and after sitting them both on the floor beside Lyra's cot, he pulled up a wooden stool and sat down hard in it.

"Alright, get over here." He said over his shoulder and as they were all alone, Caleb assumed he meant him. He walked over to the cot and waited. "Grab her wrist and hold it still. I'll have her upper arm. I don't care if you have to sit on her, but I need her still so I can give her some Med-X. There's no point in me trying to get her to take the Buff-out right now, she'll just puke it up again."

Lyra was on her side and Caleb, with only one good arm and a lot of confusion, stood at Doc Church's right side and used his good arm to hold Lyra's arm firmly. Meanwhile, she shuddered and she gritted her teeth like a woman possessed. Doc Church yanked up Lyra's sleeve, exposing an arm criss-crossed with small, thin scars and then, grabbing her bicep in what was surely a bruising grip, turned her arm firmly and jabbed the Med-X needle in and depressed the plunger. Lyra whimpered as she was given the injection, her body stiffening.

"There." Doc Church said. He let go of her arm and withdrew from her. "That should take the worst of the pain with it. Here, boy."

He picked up the bottle of Buff-out and handed it to Caleb. As he did, it rattled faintly. "There's two pills there. When she comes to her senses and can sit up without puking all over my floor, make her take 'em. We'll see to your arm after that."

He left, cursing when he turned the corner and saw the mess that Lyra left near the entrance. Caleb watched the man go. He ran his good hand through his disheveled blonde hair and sighed. The wooden stool Doc Church had sat on was still in place by Lyra's side and he settled into it. Lyra, curled up like a child, had her eyes closed.

From time to time, her face would twist and she would shake as the cramping came and went, but she seemed much quieter now since the injection.

"So, Doc Church seems...competent." He muttered, talking more for his sake than hers. He hadn't expected an answer, so when she cracked open one eye and gave him a ghost of her wolfish smile, he was surprised.

"Competent? He's a goddamn miracle worker." She shifted on the mattress, then groaned as another cramp rolled through her. "The only thing higher than his skill level is his prices. I'll probably shit myself before the day's up...between the two of us, he'll probably take ever single cap I've got."

Caleb's eyebrows shot to his hairline. "Don't tell me you're..."

"What?" Lyra scoffed. "You got a bunch of caps on you that I don't know about? Don't worry about it. Consider it a parting gift."

"Parting gift? What are you talking about?"

It was inconceivable, but hearing those words made Caleb's skin crawl. He'd left the only world he'd ever known and woke up in one he'd never have chosen, but Lyra – she was the first person he'd met. She'd helped him – eased his pain, led him to safety, gave him information, found him a doctor.

What was going to happen to him when they parted ways?

"Come on, kid. What's with that look?" She said, looking less pale and strained. "You didn't think I had adopted you, did you? This is the Wasteland...I should've just killed your ass and took everything I could carry. I told you that already." She shook her head, but the wolfish smile remained. "You're on your own after that bullet's out of your arm. And trust me, you probably won't want to see me after that anyway."

"Why not?"

"You think taking that bullet out of your arm's gonna be easy? That's only part of it. It's got to be cleaned, you're gonna need stitches..." She closed her eyes again and sighed. "Yeah, you're gonna hate my ass before the day's up."

* * *

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* * *

Jericho walked out of Moriarty's Saloon, feeling the warmth of the whiskey flowing through him. He walked over to the railing that overlooked the town of Megaton, eyes squinted against the bright afternoon sun. He saw Jenny Stahl manning her food stall, a couple of the Children sitting on the stools while they took a break from their daily ablutions. Lucy West was walking up a ramp on the north side of town, probably heading to the Saloon herself to ask about any letters from home.

He watched her, lust bubbling up inside him. He watched the way her hips swayed with each step she took, the way her pert tits bounced. He'd wanted to fuck her for a long time, had even tried once, but she'd gotten away from him. Lucas Simm's had visited him not long after that, told him if he went near Lucy again, he'd put him in the ground.

Jericho always thought Lucas Simms was full of shit, too full of cowboy dreams to be any real threat, but Megaton was a comfortable place to spend his older years. In the end, he'd decided to forget the skinny little bitch. He had Lyra these days anyway...though he was the first to admit she wasn't nearly as young and fresh as he liked, at least, not anymore. But she was warm and she was a good sport – that was enough for him.

He kept watching Lucy for a couple more minutes before deciding to go back home, maybe he could rub one out while he was waiting for Lyra. Then again, there was always the chance she was already back and was at the shack already. He'd just have to see when he got there.

The ex-Raider sniffed and pushed away from the railing. He made his way down the opposite side of town, away from Lucy West and the delicious temptation she presented. He'd gotten halfway down the catwalk leading towards Moira's store when he saw her. Lyra, her leather armor askew and a bucket in her hand, heading right towards him. She was dirty from the looks of it and was heading up to the women's restroom to clean up.

He got a wicked idea and felt his cock grow hard. He'd teach her a little something about going off without him, leaving him with nothing but that damn ghoul and that whore Nova to pass the time with. Jericho smiled and stepped off the ramp, concealing himself behind Moira's shop.

* * *

#####

* * *

Lyra bent down, upturning the bucket of water over her shoulders. The cold water cascaded down her back and her arms, raising gooseflesh as it went. The soapy water ran down the graded floor and into the drain. She stood up and put the bucket under the tap of the sink, filling it up again. While the bucket was filling, she grabbed the soap from its cradle by the sink and lathered up and down her legs and in between, sighing a little.

_Damn, it feels good to get clean. _She thought, putting the soap down by the sink and turning off the tap. She used the next batch to wash away the suds, and the third to wash and rinse her hair.

After helping Doc Church with Caleb, she'd excused herself. Caleb was a mess of guttural cursing and threats of pain and she'd decided the best thing to do was to leave him in the good doctor's care and take care of some personal business. She'd felt his angry glare on her back when she'd left, but put the teenager out of her mind after that. On the way to Megaton, she'd decided he was too much trouble, and the business with the Ultra-jet was calling her name.

When she was rested and had packed fresh supplies, she'd be heading out into the Wastes and towards Northwest Seneca Station where her contact said there were caps to be made.

She pushed hair from her face, the short black strands sticking to her forehead and her cheeks. There was no one in the women's restrooms right now and probably wouldn't be for another couple of hours. Lyra always liked to come earlier in the day, when she could take her time and have some privacy. Sighing a second time, she tossed the small bar of soap into her bucket. It was while she was reaching for the fresh clothing she'd brought with her that the door of the restroom's opened.

Surprised to find anyone visiting the restroom at this hour, Lyra turned and saw Jericho standing there. His tall figure filled the doorway. As soon as he passed through the threshold, he reached behind him and slammed the door closed. Locking it, he stared at her.

"Nice to see you decided to bring your ass back into town," he said, bloodshot eyes roaming over her naked body. She knew that look all too well. Jericho was looking for a fuck and there was going to be no way out of it.

"I had a lead on some business." She told him, proud that her voice came out even. "Thought maybe Silver would want in on it."

"What'd she say?"

The distance between them grew smaller as he came closer, already undoing the buttons of his pants. Lyra didn't even try to move away from him. "She told me to fuck off."

"Too bad." Jericho said, reaching for her and grabbing her by the throat.

Without any ceremony, Lyra was shoved against the edge of the sink basin as her mouth was assaulted by Jericho's tongue. He tasted like whiskey. Their tongues fought for dominance, earning a grunt of desire from him. His other hand, rough and calloused, found purchase on her hip. He gripped her hard, pulling her to him. Sliding his hand from her throat, he grabbed her breast, squeezing the soft mound hard, causing her to bite back a hiss.

"You bitch," he muttered, lifting her up by her ass and sitting her on the sink. "Don't you ever leave me behind again."

Without further ado, he pulled his erect cock from his trousers and impaled her with it. She cried out as he filled her completely and started a furious rhythm. His arms trapped her against the sink. With nowhere to go, she braced her elbows against the wall behind her, cushioning her back as best she could from the jab of the faucet.

"Fuck, Jericho." she hissed in between his frenzied thrusts. "If you...wanted to go, all you had to do...was ask."

* * *

#####

* * *

Caleb was alone. His arm, wrapped in a fresh bandage, hung in a makeshift sling around his neck and he was under Doc Church's strict and ill-tempered orders to rest and to stay out of the way of the other patients. Glancing around at the empty cots, he wondered what other patients Doc Church could be referring to – he was the only person there.

Lyra had left some time ago, saying something about getting cleaned up and finding some food. She'd given him one of her unnerving smiles on her way out, telling him not to miss her too much and that he'd probably see her around town – if he lived through the night. ]Caleb didn't appreciate the dark humor in her statement and had told her to kiss his ass.

Instead of being angry, she'd just laughed and told Doc Church she'd be along later to make sure he was paid the rest of what she owed him. Since Doc Church seemed to be such an asshole, Caleb was surprised when he heard the man agree to wait for the rest of his payment.

The blonde teenager shifted on the uncomfortable and narrow bed. His arm felt like it was on fire and he vaguely remembered screaming when they'd rummaged around in his arm to find the bullet. Lyra had been one of two people helping to hold him down as Doc Church performed the surgery. He now knew exactly what she'd meant when she'd been lying in nearly the same place he was now. She'd been wrong though – he didn't hate her for what had to be done. His father, granted more of a scientist than a medical doctor, had made it quite clear to him early on that one did what needed to be done.

They needed to be nice to the Overseer, even if the man put the 'dick' in the dictator. He needed to avoid the Tunnel Snakes when he could and befriend one of the only girls in the Vault. After all, he was going to have to grow up, living with and marry one of those girls, and attend everyone's funerals.

They were born in the Vault. They would die in the Vault. That's what he'd been taught from day one. That's what he'd been force to recite every morning and every night.

_But th__en Dad had to fucking__ le__ave__._ Caleb thought, the bitterness of it getting to him now that he had the time to think._ Leaving me to die in that damn rat-trap._

He hated to admit it, but now that he'd reached a place outside the Vault – one with actual people and some form of civilization – he couldn't help but agree with Lyra's words about the shittiness of what his dad had done to him.

"What did he expect to happen after he left? That I'd just throw my hands up and be all 'oh well, Dad's gone...guess I'll just marry Amata and have fifteen kids'." He muttered, shifting again. "...what a fuckin' asshole."

Thinking of Amata, Caleb sighed. He'd never see her again and on the off chance that he did, she'd probably throw something at him and tell him to fuck off.

_Amata, I'm sorry. _He thought, remembering the look of horror on her face. She'd never forgive him.

"You awake, kid?"

Caleb opened his eyes and saw a familiar form standing in the doorway of the room. Lyra stood there, looking much cleaner and relaxed than she had when she'd left. He tried to sit up straighter, but he leaned too much weight on his injured arm and hissed as pain shot through it.

"Son of a bitch..." he growled, falling back on the cot.

"Hey, take it easy," Lyra said, coming into the room. She kicked a wooden stool towards the cot and sat down in it. "Doc Church'll kill you if you break open your stitches...and I don't have any more caps to donate to the cause, so relax okay?"

He kept his breathing as even as he could, waiting the pain out. As he waited, he glanced sideways at her and thought she wasn't as bad looking as he thought now that she was clean.

Her face was angular and it looked like her nose had been broken once. It had healed well though and gave character to an otherwise plain face. Her black hair, cut short, had a natural curl to it. Now that she wasn't in pain or covered in dirt, he saw her tanned skin wasn't tanned by the sun at all. It looked more like Officer Gomez' skin. A natural, soft-looking brown, like good leather. She'd changed clothes too.

"Why'd you come back?" he asked, looking away from her. "Thought you were done with me after you paid up?"

She shrugged. "Figured you'd be hungry. I know you got nothin' in the way of caps and while Doc Church is good about not letting you die, he's shitty at keeping you fat and happy."

As if it suspected that it might be fed, Caleb's stomach rumbled. Lyra smiled, showing her chipped tooth, and pulled something out of her pocket.

It was a can. A can of pork and beans.

"I splurged and got you something nice." She told him, pulling her knife out of her boot and through more artistry than he would've suspected, punched a hole in the top of the can and pried the lid open. "You think you can hold that with your injured hand and eat with your left?"

He nodded. "I think so."

Her eyes showed her smile now as she put the can in his hand and pulled out a spoon. "Here you go."

"Thank you."

"And what's a nice dinner without somethin' to drink, am I right? Jenny didn't have any good water and I know how picky you can be, kid, so I got you the next best thing."

From another of her pockets – it seemed to Caleb, she had a dozen – she pulled out a bottle of beer.

"Don't know if Daddy let you drink, but if you're gonna bitch about dirty water, beer should be your go-to poison."

"You rich or something?" Caleb asked, not really understanding how the whole 'cap' system worked. He didn't know how much anything she'd bought was in caps, but it couldn't be cheap. Nothing was ever cheap in the Vault and they'd had more than their fair share compared to here. Or so he'd thought.

The woman shrugged again, watching as he ate his beans. "Like I said, kid. I know you ain't got any caps right now. I'm gonna be headin' out in the morning and don't know when I'll be back. I wanted to make sure you ate something before I went."

Caleb stopped eating and wiped his mouth with the back of his good hand. He hadn't thought of that. Was this going to be the last meal he had for a while? And since caps were the currency, how'd one get them. A nervousness he'd never felt took up residence in the pit of his stomach along with his beans.

"Heading out?" He repeated. "Out where? You mean, back outside the town?"

She nodded, pulling one leg into her lap. He motioned for the beer and she held it out to him. It was room temperature and it tasted kind of flat, but Caleb was really thirty. He drank almost half of it in one go. When he was finished, Lyra took the bottle from him again and placed it on the floor by her feet.

"Caps are one of those things you gotta earn." She told him, looking away from him. As if she knew what he must be thinking. "Though sometimes, if you're lucky, you'll find some caps another asshole hid and then forgot about, but usually you got to get 'em the hard way, same as anything else."

She looked back at him and gave him that unnerving smile of hers again. It was different, he realized, than the smile she'd given him earlier when she'd given him the beans. It had an edge to it, he realized. A hard edge.

"I have a chance at a shitload of caps and that's why I'm headin' out tomorrow. If it works out, then I really will be richer." She told him, handing him the beer bottle again.

"You, uh, said that caps have to be earned. How are you gonna be earning them?" he asked. He eyed her rifle, the one that still peeked out over her shoulder, despite her clean clothes and pretty face.

"If things work out, I'll earn 'em the honest way." She told him, losing her smile. Her voice had dropped. It held the edge now. "If I find out I got fucked over by my contact, well...let's just say that he'll have to pay for the damages."

The air was thick with the implication in her words and Caleb, even though he wasn't on the receiving end of them, decided that he never wanted to be. He avoided her eyes after that and stared instead at his half-eaten can of beans. For a few minutes, they just sat there, not speaking. Lyra shifted on her stool, reaching her arm around and rubbing at a place on her back. She grimaced a little.

The movement snapped Caleb out of his silence. "Lyra, I..I don't know anybody out here but you...and I don't really know how to do anything. What could I possibly do to earn some caps of my own?"

Lyra shrugged, putting her hand back in her lap. "You had job duties in there, didn't you?"

He looked at her. "In the Vault."

"No, in the D.C. Ruins." She replied, rolling her eyes. "Yes, in the Vault. Didn't you work or have something you did everyday? Don't tell me they just let you sit around with your thumb up your ass all day."

Caleb's eyes widened. "Oh, well. Yeah, we were all given chores we had to finish. We would take turns sometimes with the daily stuff, like cleaning and shit. But all of us had an area we stayed in most of the time."

"Well then, use that shit to make some caps." Lyra told him, getting up from her stool. She handed his beer bottle back to him. He took it from her and positioned it between his legs.

"Just, you know, ask around town." She told him, rubbing her back again. "Somebody's bound to need somethin'. You can bet on that. Now get some rest, kid. I gotta get my shit ready for tomorrow. Try not to die before I get back, okay?"

He nodded, then watched with growing dismay as she went out the door and disappeared. He looked down at his can of beans and swallowed.

"Yeah, sure." He muttered, eyes filling hot. "You too."


	7. Chapter 7

**Author Note:** Here's another reminder to you guys that I don't own Fallout 3 or its characters. I'm just playing with them for our mutual enjoyment. Also, I hope everyone in this chapter is (for the most part) in-character. I'm not going to use a whole lot of verbatim dialogue from the game as I can't remember half of it, but hopefully I get pretty close.

Also, thanks to **guest** for reviewing the last chapter.

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

* * *

Doc Church had kicked him out. There was no other way to describe it. Caleb stood on the little ramp leading away from the clinic and heard the door closed behind him with a definitive click. With his arm still in the sling, still hurting from the minor operation he'd undergone to have to bullet extracted, he looked around with uncertainty.

He took in the disorderly shacks on the south side of Megaton, and then, more slowly, the rest of it. There wasn't much to see. The city seemed a mass of rusted airplane innards, thrown together with some corrugated metal and spare parts, all of it welded together into a maze of shacks and questionable catwalks. Its main street, if one wanted to call it that, lead two ways – up towards the metal gateway that he and Lyra had passed through the day or two before, and down towards what Caleb decided to call a common area.

A long, low sound came from beside him and Caleb's eyes rested on the two-headed cow grazing placidly on some scruffy grass. Daisy, Lyra had called her.

"Good morning, Daisy." Caleb said. "Don't suppose you know where the hell I should be going next?"

One of the animal's two head turned at the speech, while the other tacitly ignored him, finding the grass more interesting than discourse with him. The head that had decided to engage him looked away and down towards the common area, calling out again as if making a reply. Caleb glanced in the proffered direction and saw some people, dressed in loose, dingy clothing, heading towards an atomic bomb in the middle of town. One, taller than the rest and with grey hair hanging limply into his face, went far more forward than the others and, with reverence, placed his forehead to the surface of the bomb.

"What the hell are they doing?" Caleb asked. "Don't they know what the hell that thing is?"

To get a better look, he started gingerly down the ramp until his feet touched solid ground. He started towards the common area and the closer he got, the more he became aware of a smell riding the air. He looked around until his eyes took in the definite, if small, cloud of gray smoke hanging around one of the shacks. His pace quickened as he thought at first that something was on fire, but then he saw the food stand, manned by a thin young woman. She was cooking over a smoking griddle, turning small sticks over and over, all of them filled with globs of grey meat...much like the ones he'd eaten with Lyra just outside the Vault.

His stomach rumbled at the smell, which was far more appetizing than the blobs of grey meat might imply and he slowed, remembering Lyra's words from the day before. About how he needed caps to survive out here and how he had none.

Ask around, she'd said. There were people who needed help in town. They would pay for his help with caps...and with those caps, he could buy food...possibly new clothing.

He stopped walking and thought about the best course of action, looking around at the smattering of shacks and bigger, hopefully more important, buildings. So engrossed in his thoughts, he didn't see the brown-skinned man in the cowboy duster and hat until the man had spoken.

"You gonna stand there all day, stranger?" The man said in a twang that fitting to his unusual appearance. Caleb looked at him stupidly.

"I – I was looking for something."

He looked Caleb over and something seemed to click. "Ah, I see. You'd be the Vault kid Lyra mentioned. I'm Lucas Simms, the town sheriff. I'm the one who keeps this town runnin' smooth, you get me. So, if you're standing here thinkin' about gettin' into mischief, I'm here to change your mind."

His hand touched the strap on his shoulder, bringing Caleb's attention to a rifle, very similar to Lyra's own, crossing his back. Caleb gave the man a weak smile.

"Don't worry, Mr. Simms. I don't plan on causing any mischelf. I just got...uh, discharged by Doc Church and was thinking about where I needed to head next. I don't have the caps for food, so I was looking for a way to, you know, make some...honestly."

The man listened to his words and relaxed his hand on the strap of his rifle.

"I see. Well, in that case, you could always go see Walter up at the water processor. He's always needin' help keepin' this dirty old town runnin' without a hitch. You see that building up there?"

He turned and pointed up to one of the large structures Caleb had been staring at earlier. "You follow the ramps up there and talk to him. He's old, you see, and has trouble gettin' around anymore. Or, if that don't work out, you could try Moira Brown. She's always tinkerin' with something; that woman needs help too – some of it mental, if you ask me. Truth be told, I'm surprised she ain't tried to fiddle with the bomb in the middle of town yet."

"That thing's disarmed, right?" Caleb asked, unable to help himself. Down in the center of the common area, the group around the bomb had grown, the grey-haired man speaking in loud, passionate tones to the crowd. "I mean, those people-"

Lucas Simms followed Caleb's line of sight and laughed.

"Who? The Children of Atom? Oh, don't mind them. They ain't gonna do anything – they worship the damn thing. But no, it ain't disarmed. It's one of the duds leftover from the Great War. It fell from the sky and the Children, or people kin to 'em anyway, started worshiping the thing and built this town up around it. It's been here longer than I have."

"Okay, thanks." Caleb said, not understanding. Then a thought occurred to him. "Hey, Sheriff? You wouldn't have seen another, uh, newcomer like myself around town lately, have you? He's a middle-aged man, with greying hair, blonde like mine. Um, his name's James Marx?"

"Oh, you mean that other Vault fella?" Sheriff Simms said, brow furrowing. "I think I saw someone like that, but it's hard to tell. I don't get to patrol as often as I care to, you know. You should head up to Moriarty's Saloon...he knows a great deal more about newcomers coming through than I do sometimes, but you'll pay a hefty price for the information. I was you, I'd find me some work before talkin' to him."

At that, he tipped his hat to Caleb. "Well, I'll be goin'. Still, got a few rounds to make before headin' down to Jenny's for some breakfast myself. You take care now...uh, what was it you said your name was?"

"Caleb. Caleb Marx."

"Oh then, the man you're lookin' for...he's some sort of kin, I imagine."

The teenager nodded, clenching one of his hands. "Yeah, my father actually. That's why I'm looking for him."

* * *

#####

* * *

Moira Brown was sitting at her work table, eyes focused on her mole rat repellent stick when the door to her store opened and a young man with a shock of dirty blonde hair, an arm sling, and glasses came through the door. She looked up long enough to see the tattered, blood-stained jumpsuit he wore and her eyes widened in excitement. Leaving her repellent stick on the work table, she got up and hurried over to the counter.

"Hey there! Welcome to my shop," Moira greeted.

"Um, hello. I was, uh, asking around to see if you needed any help around here? I'm looking to make a few caps and Lucas Simms told me to check here."

Moira put her elbows on the counter and leaned forward. "Well, that's just great because I could use someone's help...oh, with a lot of things really."

She went over to her work table and picked up some of the notes she'd been taking, all the while speaking to the young man behind her. "You see, I'm writing a book about how to survive the Wasteland and I just need someone to go out there and get the information I need to put into it."

"A book?"

Moira turned to face him. "Oh yes. I think it'll help so many people and even if it doesn't, I least we tried, right? I mean, I see so many people come and go around here and they just never seem to stick around longer than a couple of weeks or so. Isn't that sad?"

"Um, sure-"

"And anyway, I was just thinking...if I could make life a little easier on everyone out there, maybe they wouldn't disappear so often. Why, it's so funny that you came in here in that Vault suit. I remember this other newcomer, not much different than you actually, who came through here and decided to sell his suit to me." She stopped in front of the blonde and pushed the papers in his hand. "Here, why don't you look through these? See if you'd be interested in helping. Anyway, he sold his suit to me and I've been in the process of adding some plating to it and some reinforced seams..."

"Wait, wait, wait." He interrupted, waving the papers at her. "You mean you saw someone else like me come through here? In a Vault 101 suit?"

He stepped forward and his eyes bored into Moira with a sort of earnestness that Moira couldn't help but find cute. She nodded and crossed her arms.

"Of course, silly. I wouldn't just make something like that up!" Moira told him with a laugh. "It's not everyday that a Vault-dweller comes through here. In fact, that's one reason I could really use your help with my book. You see, I wanted to make one of the chapters about life in a Vault and I can't just ask anyone about that, now can I?"

She sighed. "The other one wouldn't help though, said he was just in town for a day or so. Pity too. But hey, if you agree to help me, I'll give his spiffy, modified jumpsuit to you. Looks like you could use something new to wear. So what do you say?"

"When did he come through, was it a day or two ago? What did he look like? Did he say what his name was?"

Moira held up her arms, overwhelmed by the questions fired at her in rapid succession. Unable to contain herself, she started laughing. "Whoa, easy there! Wow, you're just the kind if helper I could use, asking all those questions like that. I'll bet with your help, we'd leave no stone unturned in our quest for knowledge."

"Was his name James?" The young man persisted, clenching his hand and crumpling up her notes. Seeing it, Moira's mouth opened in shock.

"Hey, easy there! Those are very important notes, you know!" She reached and out took the crumpled pages from him again and tried to smooth them out on her countertop. She stuck out her tongue in concentration. When she was satisfied that they weren't damaged, she looked over at him and sighed.

"It was a day or two ago, yes." She told him, not understanding what could be more important that her book which could save hundreds of lives. "I don't remember what he said his name was, because it was really late when he came through. I was still asleep when I heard someone banging on my door. It was all I could do to keep Sammy here from shooting whoever it was!"

She motioned to the threshold between her shop and her living area. Her guest followed her gesture and looked surprised to see the bodyguard standing there. Sammy, being his usual unfriendly self, just looked back silently.

"Anyway, when I opened the door, he came in here and said he needed a change of clothes...quickly. I tried to tell him about my book and how I could really use his help, but he just paid for what he needed and changed in there." She placed her notes back on her work table and sighed. "I didn't have time to show him my notes…I thought maybe if I showed them to you then you would help me."

"If I help you, can I have the suit now?" He asked quietly. "I...don't have any caps right now and this jumpsuit's pretty much ruined. I need another set of clothes and I don't know when I'll eat next, let alone when I can get enough bottle caps for anything else."

Moira's heart felt like it was going to explode. Squealing, she crossed the room and gave the young man a hug. "Oh, that's the best news I've heard in forever! Thank you so much for deciding to help me. Trust me, you won't regret being a part of posterity...and I'll give you full credit for your work, I promise. I'll even repair any items you need at a discount!"

Moira took a satisfied breath and withdrew herself from the young man's personal space. He looked a bit stunned and she could only think how excited he must be to get started too. She took a moment to really look at him and saw he'd dropped a leather bag near the door. Or, at least, she assumed it was his...she couldn't remember leaving anything there before.

"Did you bring something in to trade by any chance?" She asked, pointed to the bag. "I mean, that is your bag right?"

The young man nodded. "Yeah, it's my bag, but I don't there's anything in there that you'd be interested in."

"Oh, I don't know! Let's take a look and see."

Moira grabbed the bag eagerly. If there was anything she enjoyed as much as researching and tinkering, it was bartering and selling. Opening the bag's drawstring top, she dumped the contents onto the counter without hesitation. A variety of things clattered onto the scratched surface and almost immediately, something caught her eye.

"Oh my goodness!" She cried, snatching something from the pile. "I can't believe you have a copy of Grognak the Barbarian...I don't think I've even seen this issue. This is pre-war, right? These are so hard to find now! I'll give you ten caps for it."

She glanced over at him and he nodded, looking disinterested. She rummaged through the pile again and something else caught her eye. "And what is this? Pre-war money? There's not a lot of that hanging round anymore either. How many bills do you have in here? Oh, five...that is just awesome. Can I buy them from you too?"

"Um, yeah. I won't be needing it so...sure."

"Great." Moira said, feeling very pleased with herself. "I'll give you twenty caps for the lot. And I'll grab that jumpsuit for you too. You're a little slimmer than the man who came through here the other day, but it should fit pretty well. If you need help changing, I can get Sammy to help you."

She glanced over at Sammy and smiled. "Is that okay with you, Sammy? Mind helping this nice man right here get changed? He's injured, you know. Isn't that sad?"

* * *

#####

* * *

Caleb sat outside of Moira's shop, Craterside Supplies, unable to believe it. His dad had been in Megaton two nights ago and he'd been in a huge hurry to get out of here. He had found Megaton with little trouble by the sound of it, he'd come, got supplies, and left...all in a really big hurry. He'd traded his jumpsuit for other clothing, which meant he'd either had enough stuff to trade, or already had enough caps to buy them.

Which just didn't add up. He couldn't have known about how things were outside unless he had access to information that Caleb and the other residents of Vault 101 didn't.

_Unless he wasn't from the Vault to begin with._ Caleb thought. An empty feeling that had nothing to do with hunger gnawed at him.

He glanced down at the little pile of bottle caps in his hand, the muted sunlight overhead catching the edges of the least rusted of them. There were twenty in all – twenty bottle caps he'd gotten from Moira for a comic book and some pre-war money. The comic book was a gift he'd received long ago at a birthday party. The pre-war bills just something he'd stuffed in his bag the night he'd fled from his home.

His arm hurt. His stomach was empty. He had no idea where he was supposed to sleep tonight and he'd blindly agreed to help Moira with her survival book. After giving him the caps, she'd asked him to come back when his arm was healed so that they could begin the book. In the meantime, she'd be organizing her thoughts and what the Guide should cover.

In all honesty, Caleb thought the idea was a joke. Who was going to read the book anyway? But he'd needed a change of clothing and the only way he could be sure whether or not the Vault suit she'd mentioned had belonged to his father was to see it for himself.

When he'd agree and they had finished 'trading', she'd brought out the jumpsuit, modified of course, but once he had it in his hands, he'd checked the inside collar and saw his father's initials on the cleaning tag – looking as unsteady as his father's letters always looked.

"Dad, you sure got a shit load of explaining to do," Caleb sighed, gripping the caps tightly. "If I ever find you...that is."


	8. Chapter 8

**Author Note:** Thank you to Ragingceliac for their wonderful, encouraging review. I live for such feedback. Also, thanks to all of you that have favorited or followed this story. It's rewarding to know that people are enjoying my work.

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

* * *

Northwest Seneca Station was a day's journey from Megaton, a mile or so past the small settlement of Arefu. Lucy West's hometown overlooked the remains of the Potomac river from its precarious perch on a fragment of interstate high above the dusty hills of the Wasteland. When Lyra and Jericho passed near the ramp leading up towards the settlement, they heard a yell. A grenade came flying past them and before she thought about it, Lyra cursed and shoved Jericho out of the way.

"What the fuck, Lyra?" Jericho shouted, but Lyra wasn't behind him anymore. Diving into a nearby ditch, she covered her head with her arms just as the grenade exploded and dirt and rocks flew everywhere.

With the explosion echoing through the hot air, Lyra raised her head, shaking dust from her hair. There was the sound of a gun cocking and Jericho's angry shouting, and Lyra looked over to see her companion stomping up the ramp towards Arefu.

"Goddammit! What the hell d'you think you're fuckin' doing throwing a damn grenade at us? I oughtta shove a grenade up your fuckin' ass, Evan King!"

The man came down to meet the ex-Raider, hand on his own gun. When Lyra got up from her ditch and joined Jericho on the ramp, Evan's hand relaxed on his firearm.

"Sorry 'bout that. I wasn't sure who the hell was coming through. We've had a lot of strange shit goin' on and I ain't takin' no chances. Glad to see it's just y'all though," the old man said.

"I don't give a rat's ass what's goin' on around here, you pull some shit like that again and I'll put you in the ground." Jericho growled, hand still taut on his own piece.

Evan King looked apologetically at Lyra. Lyra nodded at him, a grim smile on her face. She knew him from her days walking from caravan point to caravan point with her family. "You doin' alright, Lyra?"

She nodded. "I'm fine, Evan. What's goin' on that's got you this spooked?"

He shook his head, looking around. "Nothing I care to talk about out here. There's been some deaths, that's all I'll say. Some strange folk's been wandering around these parts. Where y'all headed anyway?"

"None of your business, ol' man." Jericho snarled, no doubt out of sorts about having a grenade thrown at his head. Lyra rolled her eyes.

"We're headin' to Seneca Station, got some business to take care of over there. You got any idea who we might run into?"

Evan sighed, taking off his cap and scratching his gray, balding head. "Watch yourself out that way. Been some raiders hanging out near the old store at Seneca, some ghouls too...but there's no tellin' if the ghouls are brain-eaters or not. I wouldn't trust any of 'em myself."

"Raiders, huh?" Lyra looked over at Jericho. "I think the two of us can handle them well enough. The ghouls...well, we'll see when we get there." She turned back to Evan King. "We need to be on our way, Evan. Sun's getting lower in the sky and we want to make it to the station before dark, especially if these strange folks you're talkin' about are hanging around."

He nodded, brow furrowed. "Well, I suppose you do need to head on then. Feel free to stop by again on your way back...might just have some caps for you, if you want to take care of our...uh, stranger problem."

"Shit no." Jericho spoke up beside her. "I ain't no hero...and if Lyra wants to play one, she can do it on her own fuckin' time."

Lyra pursed her lips, but nodded her head to Evan. Turning on her heel, she started down the ramp. It took her a few feet to realize that Jericho wasn't right behind her. She glanced over her shoulder to see Jericho speaking in low, rough tones to the other man. Evan King's face had turned pale beneath his tan and she frowned in spite of herself.

"Fuck, Jericho." She snapped, catching his attention. "You comin' or not? Give Evan a break and move your ass already, before he decides to throw another damn grenade at your head."

The ex-Raider flipped her off, but left Evan alone.

Soon as they were off the ramp and on their way again. Lyra had put the whole incident behind her, but when they were veiled in the great shadow of the highway overpass, a hand grabbed the leather of her jacket and jerked her around. She found Jericho's red face pushed into her own.

"Listen, bitch," he growled. Lyra found a knife at her throat a second later, the edge of the blade kissing the skin under her jaw. "You ever act like that again, I'll cut your fuckin' throat. I don't bow down to you or anyone else, you got me? If I want to put a bullet in King's head, I will and there's not a damn thing your ass can do about it."

Lyra didn't blink. She was used to Jericho's threats, but the bite of the knife was something one took seriously, no matter who was holding it to your throat.

"Sorry, Jericho." She muttered, not feeling sorry in the slightest. "I was just tired of hearing that paranoid old fool's bullshit. And we needed to get on the move again."

"Well, you just remember your place. 'Cause I ain't telling you again."

"Damn, alright. Just chill out."

He let her go after that and stalked forward, leaving her to catch up to him. They walked another hour or so in thick silence. Meanwhile, the sun continued to move across the sky and the shadows around them started to lengthen. When it had just reached the horizon, they crested a hill and looked down on the Northwest Seneca Station. The glow of fire could be seen below, to the left of the stairwell leading down into the station.

Lyra cursed quietly to herself when an human outline, lit from behind by the glowing fire, crossed in front of the stairwell into the shop nearby.

"Raiders." She said, already pulling her rifle from her shoulder.

* * *

#####

* * *

The sun had disappeared behind the tall metal walls and the interior of the town was growing darker by the minute. If Caleb was surprised at how bright the outside world was, it held no comparison to the darkness he was beginning to experience as the sun set. He hurried along the ramps, only managing to keep his balance by keeping his good hand on the rails as he jogged.

He'd been to the water processing plant to talk to the old man, Walter, and he had needed help with the pipes in town. Caleb was more than willing to help patch a few leaky pipes, as he'd done similar patchwork in the Vault, but when Walter mentioned the impending sunset and that it was best they start the next day, he'd dismissed Caleb promptly and practically shoved him out the door.

Standing there, confused, on the landing outside the plant, Caleb found himself on one of the highest tiers of the town and could see the sun easing itself behind the distant, rocky mountains. It was the first sunset he'd ever seen and the colors filling the sky were magnificent – all burnished orange, fiery red, and gold – and chasing behind those brilliant hues was a depth of shade he only imagined.

The coming of night.

Seeing it, Caleb remembered how Lyra still hadn't returned and he wondered, looking out into the distance revealed by his higher vantage point, where in that great expanse she might've been and what she was doing. And if she would return. It was foolish, he knew, to have grown so attached to a stranger...but to be left here, injured and in pain, in a town so unlike what he was used to, with people he didn't know and wasn't sure he could trust, had proved more frightening than his frantic exodus from the Vault.

Caleb lost his footing and fell hard onto the metal grating of the ramp. His glasses skittered across the ramp. Tears filled his eyes and his injured arm struck the metal and he felt the rush of wet warmth that hinted he might've broken a stitch. Cursing, he tried to get to his knees, struggled to get purchase on the railing so he could haul himself up.

"Hey, are you okay?" The voice was young, feminine, the voice of a girl. He glanced up, squinting without his glasses, and saw a small figure kneeling down beside him. "I think you dropped these."

A hand reached out and he saw she held his glasses. Taking them eagerly, he put them on his face and saw a little girl staring at him. Her straight, black hair brushed her shoulders and around the crown of her head was tied a pink bow.

"Thank you." He said, surprised to see a child. She was the only child he'd seen so far in Megaton, and she looked healthy. "I fell, but I'm okay."

"But you're bleeding."

"Am I?" Caleb looked down and as he'd suspected, the clean bandages encircling his arm were spotted with blood. He grimaced and got to his feet. "Looks like it, huh?"

"Do you need help? I saw you running before...did something scare you?"

Caleb was at a loss. What was a little girl doing out here by herself? Where were her parents?

"It's okay to be scared, you know." The little girl continued. "My new dad said so. His name is Billy. I was going to find him….do you want to come too? Maybe if we walk together, you won't be scared anymore."

"Y-yeah, okay." Caleb said, wincing a little as he rose completely to his feet. He looked down at the little girl, who smiled at him. "Where were you going to find him?"

"Moriarty's place. He always goes there to visit Nova. I don't know really know why, but he seems to like her a lot."

"Then I guess I'll come too. What's your name? Mine's Caleb."

"I'm Maggie. Come on, Caleb. It's not far from here."

So Caleb, in pain and with nothing better to do, followed a small girl through the darkened street, up another ramp, where they stopped at the door of a two story building with a large sign announcing 'Moriarty's Saloon'. His earlier conversation with Lucas Simms came to mind. He wondered if this Moriarty had any more information about his father's whereabouts than Moira did.

Maggie, his small companion, took his hand and smiled at him as she pulled the door of the building open. As they passed through it, the smell of stale beer and loud, raucous laughter met his ears. Even more surprising, he heard static-filled music underneath the general din of the place. Caleb looked around with interest. He wondered which of the people in here was this Moriarty.

"Hey Gob!"

"Hey Maggie," a raspy, damaged voiced greeted. "You lookin' for Billy?"

The little girl at his side dropped his hand and ran forward. He watched her as she jumped with obvious enthusiasm onto one of the bar stools, but when he saw who she was speaking to he felt his stomach drop in horror. The man she was speaking to didn't have a face...or rather, what face he did have was...disfigured. Horribly disfigured. There was only misshapen lumps, raw edges, the outline of cartilage where a nose should've been..and eyes that had filmed over from...blindness? It was hard to say.

"Yeah, is he here?" Little Maggie said brightly, unaffected. "I brought a new a friend, his name is Caleb." Looking over her shoulder, she smiled at him. The man – Gob – looked over at him too.

"I see. You comin' in or not, smoothskin?"

"W-what happened to your face?" Caleb blurted, unable to help himself. Maggie lost her smile.

"Caleb, don't be mean to Gob! He's my friend!"

"Yeah, what's a matter?" Gob asked, expression far more guarded than it had been a moment ago. "You never seen a ghoul before or what?"

"I'd go with 'or what'." Another voice said. Caleb looked over and saw another young woman, probably Moira's age, staring at him. Her long blond hair was pulled back from her face in a ponytail. "You must be new here, judging from that shocked look on your face. Come sit down. I don't think you'll be welcome at the bar now."

"I-I didn't mean-" Caleb stumbled over his words. The woman waved her hand.

"Doesn't matter...just make sure you don't make that face or say anything around Lyra. Her and Gob are closer than people are comfortable with...and she'd just as soon punch you in the face than hear someone say something mean to Gob. I've seen her do it."

"Lyra?" Caleb repeated, walking over to the table where the woman sat. "Are you two friends or-?"

A strained look passed over the woman's face. It took a minute too long for her to answer. "Ha, not really. The way she hangs around with that asshole prick Jericho is enough to make me sick, but I don't...hate her or anything. How do you know her?"

Caleb sat down, wincing as the motion jarred his aching arm. "She helped me. Out there..in the Wastes. She brought me here and got me to Doc Church's."

"Well then, she's better than I give her credit for...still don't trust her too much. Once a raider, always a raider, if you ask me. Turning over a new leaf only lasts so long with some of them."

* * *

#####

* * *

Both Jericho and Lyra, lying prostrate on the ground, looked down their sights towards the group of raiders below. From what they had observed in the last hour, as the sun left the sky and bathed the land in shadow, there were at least a half dozen raiders and none of them seem particularly well-armed. Not only that, they all looked sickly, malnourished.

"Let's just go in there and fuckin' kill 'em." Jericho whispered, just loud enough for Lyra to hear him. "They all look like they're half-dead anyway. What's the problem?"

"It doesn't feel right. They ain't watchin' hard enough. We know how it is, Jericho. It don't matter if you're swingin' the biggest damn stick in the yard or not, you never let your guard down. You give someone some Jet and send their asses on patrol."

"You're overthinking it. They look like shit and they're weak. They're about to see just how weak when I go down there and crack some fuckin' skulls."

Lyra sighed, a small puff of air from her lips.

"I say we wait and sneak up on 'em when they're asleep. Slit their throats and then take care of the rest."

There was some commotion down below. Lyra and Jericho instinctively pressed themselves down as close to the ground as possible and kept quiet. There was the sound of struggle, some yelling. They both peeked out over their guns. Lyra's eyes widened as she saw two ghouls, their arms bound behind them being forced up the metro station's steps by a trio of much heavier, fitter-looking raiders, then tossed unceremoniously to the ground.

"Shit." She hissed, watching with a twitching trigger finger as the two were dragged back up and shoved in the direction the general store. "That's them."

"Who?"

"The people we're supposed to be doin' business with...contact said two ghouls. They're the ones who can make the chem – the Ultra-jet. Bastards are down there harassin' our cash cows."

"You mean to tell me we're draggin' our asses all the way out here for a couple of fuckin' zombies?" Jericho hissed back.

"They know their stuff, dammit." Lyra fired back. "And they can make us rich, if we play our cards right. But shitload of good it does us if those assholes down there kill 'em. We gotta get down there, but we gotta do this quiet."

"Fuck that." Jericho snapped, jumping up from his place on the hill. "I say we go now." And just like that, Jericho was gone. Racing down the hills, the ex-Raider brought up his combat shotgun and started firing. Lyra had time to curse, then she was aiming down her sights, finger on the trigger.

The raiders down below were taken by surprise. For a couple of seconds, the majority of them froze or ducked down low, looking for the source of the noise and the gunfire. Then one of the ones with the ghouls reached behind them and pulled a hunting rifle from their back. Lyra didn't think, she just aimed and shot.

The raider aiming for Jericho went down, a round of .556 bullets in their torso. The sudden drop of one of their biggest guys motivated the other raiders and then it was on. Jericho finally got within skull-cracking range and blew the leg out from under the closest raider and the woman went down with a spray of dark blood and a howl of agony.

The two ghouls, seeing that their captures were under attack, stumbled sideways, trying to get out of the line of fire. Another two raiders, pulling knives from their armor, went for Jericho again and Lyra fired again, moving her barrel in a steady line – both raiders took a shot apiece, but it merely slowed them down. Cursing again, Lyra jumped up from her place in the dirt and ran down the hill herself, offering another target.

She fired as she went, spraying the ground with bullets and keeping them moving, off balance. Hearing the loud boom of Jericho's shotgun, she saw another scream as he blew a hole through another's chest.

One of the bigger raiders, more armored than the rest and cleverer it seemed, came towards her the moment her rifle chose to jam. Not having the time to fool with the rifle release, Lyra dropped her assault rifle and went for the knife in her boot.

A loud scream cut through the air as the raider lunged towards her, the barest gleam of a blade her only warning as to the danger, she narrowly avoided the high horizontal sweep of the blade and got behind the raider's shoulder. Hand on their arm, she pushed the swing farther, unbalancing her attacker as she brought her own blade up and in between the raiders ribs. Or she would have, if the leather armor he'd worn hadn't had metal behind it. Her blade squealed and slide as it hit the metal, tearing through the leather, but not penetrating the plate.

"Fuck," she cursed and switched tactics. She lifted a foot and brought it down on their knee. It gave with a sickening crack as she broke it.

Another couple of booms as Jericho shot again, but Lyra paid no attention. As soon as the raider in front of her was down, they swung their blade again, catching lower part of her leg. Pain blossomed as it cut into her flesh and she cried out, falling to her knee as her leg buckled.

Another boom and the raider's head exploded, spraying her with blood, bone and brains. Tears filled her eyes and she tried to stand up again, finding it near impossible. She felt her boot slide as blood ran down her leg inside of it.

In the darkness, broken only by the ruddy orange glow of the burning trashcans, she saw the one of the two ghouls descend on another raider while the other cowered in fear. The angry ghoul beat and kicked the raider until he no longer moved, his face a mass of blood and gore. Jericho, in his element and filled with adrenaline, made short work of the remaining two and they joined their other friends bleeding in the dirt. Her ears ringing from the gunfire, her entire left leg on fire from the knee down, Lyra limped and cursed her way towards Jericho and the two ghouls.

"You two brain-eaters is lucky we came along," Jericho was saying, standing in front of the ghouls in question with his shotgun aimed and ready. "If we hadn't been scoping out this place ourselves, you might've been killed. Or worse, sold as fuckin' cattle in Paradise Falls."

"Is that right, smoothskin?" One of the ghouls sneered, the blood of the raider he'd beaten to death spatted on his clothing and on his ravaged face. "What makes you think you're any better than these assholes right here?"

"'Cause we're alive." Lyra supplied. "And they're nothing but radroach food…"

"You don't do something about that leg of yours and you'll be joinin' them soon enough," The second ghoul, dressed in a grimy white shirt, said. He stepped around his friend and looked at her with concern. "You took a blade to the leg. I saw it."

Jericho glanced her way. "You hurt?"

She nodded.

"Shit." He said, turning his head and spitting violently on the ground. "I thought you got that son of a bitch before he got you."

"You thought wrong." Lyra said, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. "You can make it up to me by givin' me that stimpak in your bag and gettin' me my fuckin' Buff-out before I pass out."

She glanced at the ghouls. "And as for you two...I got some business I need to work out with you, if I don't bleed to death."

"We have some medical supplies inside. I'm not a doctor, but I have pretty decent first aid skills." White Shirt said.

"Murphy, don't give that shit to them."

"If we don't, they'll probably just take it anyway Barrett. You," The ghoul, Murphy, addressed Jericho. "You think you can untie us now?"

"You try anythin' funny," Jericho said, walking towards him. "I'm blowin' a hole through your friend first and then you..."

"Understood." He replied, then cast a sideways glance at his friend. "Barrett, not a thing."

"Fine, but if you ask me, these two can kiss my rotten ass."

Lyra, feeling her grip on reality tetter a little, laughed. It sounded crazed...even to her own ears. "You two make the pain stop, I'll kiss both your asses."


	9. Chapter 9

**Author Note:** After this chapter, there may be a lull in my updating – but I promise I won't leave you guys to sit and twiddle your thumbs indefinitely. Thanks for sticking with me...I appreciate you guys a lot. ;)

Oh FYI, I'm not good at writing dialectical language, so if Moriarty sounds more Scottish than Irish, I apologize.

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

* * *

Lucy West was nice enough to talk to, but it seemed to Caleb that she thought too highly of some people and too low of others. Lyra, she didn't seem to trust. Jericho, she wouldn't piss on if he'd been on fire. Jenny Stahl was fine, but her brother was a chem-junkie who might as well off himself. As soon as the young woman realized he was a newcoming, the list went on and on. Caleb let her talk, not knowing what else to do, and found himself looking back at the disfigured man behind the counter.

He had no nose, only a scarred, scabby hole where the cartilage should have been, his hair was nearly gone, only scraggly patches remained, what was left looked unclean, oily. Caleb felt his stomach turn looking at him, wondering just how someone who looked like that could still be living. The man worked the bar with practiced ease though, he knew the names of every one who came in, and he seemed to always look after one of the only other women in the Saloon – a scantily-dressed woman with red hair.

The woman was pretty, in a gaunt and sad sort of way, like she needed either a good meal or good cry, and then she would be refreshed, cleansed somehow… Caleb interrupted Lucy for the first time, motioned to the red head.

"Who's that?"

He glanced back at Lucy long enough to see the blonde make a disgusted face before turning away from him. "That's Nova. The local whore. I don't think there's a guy in this town she's not fucked ten-ways to Sunday. Well, except maybe for Gob...you know, the ghoul? Let me guess...you interested in taking her for a roll too?"

Caleb felt his face grow hot. "What? No! I just...she looks so miserable, that's all."

"I hardly think she couldn't be, selling herself like that," Lucy agreed, but didn't seem to bother her much. "But, I mean, shit. That's what happens when you owe Moriarty. Same goes for Gob...poor bastard couldn't leave this place if he wanted to."

"You mean they're both like...slaves or something?"

"Might as well be...but that's hardly new. That's just one of the things you've gotta look out for in the Wasteland. Paradise Falls, in the north, is a slaver city. That's where most all slaves end up one way or another. It's a day or two away from Arefu, where I grew up, and it's one of the reasons why our town's on top of the interstate. Only one way up, only one way down. And from up there you can see for miles, you can see slavers coming before they even know you're there. Makes it easy to pick 'em off with a sniper rifle."

Caleb sat there and listened to Lucy talk, his heart sinking lower and lower into stomach. The Wasteland was rougher than he imagined and he was beginning to realize just how much he didn't know. He was about to ask Lucy something else when the door opened and an older man, with hair whitened by age, came through the door with so much authority, that Caleb fell silent.

"Gob!" the man shouted. "Get yer ugly ass over here and help me get these supplies inside! If you don't hop to, boy, I'll knock ya a good one, I promise ye that."

The man's accent was strange to Caleb's ears – the words lilting and beautiful in their cadance, despite the harsh words. He saw the ghoul – Gob, his mind told him – practically jump over the bar in his haste.

"Sorry, sir." The gho—Gob said, keeping his eyes downcast as he slid past the other man and went outside. The man paid the other no more attention. His eyes had fallen on Caleb.

"Well, bless me eyes. It's the little babe all grown into a man. Ye come to find dear old Da? Well, sorry to say he's long gone by now...but come over t' the counter there and let me have a look at ye."

"Are you...Moriarty then?" Caleb asked, not moving from his spot at Lucy West's table. The man smiled, but it wasn't a pleasant one.

"Aye, that I am. Businessmen like me don't have much time to waste, so hurry it up, lad. Up with ye."

Caleb glanced at Lucy, but she didn't look at him.

"I suppose I'll see you around." He told her, getting up and following the older man towards the bar.

Moriarty moved with an ease that he hadn't seen in some of the other people in Megaton. There was a certain swagger to the way the man walked, a deliberate filling of space, that reminded Caleb of the Overseer. Unease settled into his gut as he sat down next to the man. The sharp way Moriarty's eyes walked over his features, his arm, his clothing made Caleb uncomfortable, as though the man were measuring him for weaknesses.

"You saw my father?" Caleb asked, not knowing how else to begin. Moriarty turned on his stool, propping an elbow on the counter.

"Aye, I saw your Da. He came through in quite the rush. Hardly had time to give me a 'how d'you do' and then he was off again, off on that foolhardy quest o' his."

His brow furrowed. "Quest? What are you talking about?"

"Oh, he didn't tell ye?" Moriarty lifted an eyebrow, looking amused. "Your Da probably kept a lot from ye then. Did he even tell ye where ye were born, lad?"

"I was born in the Vault."

"Oh, ye think so?"

Caleb nodded. "Of course I do."

"And let me guess, ye were gonna die in the Vault too, were ye? Jesus, what a laugh! They've got ye programmed right good, don't they? No, boy, ye weren't born in no Vault."

"What are you talking about?" He snapped. "I was born in the Vault. My mother died in childbirth."

"It's true, she did." Moriarty agreed. "But that nonsense about being born in the Vault is nothin' but bullshit. Ye was born in Rivet City, on the other side of the D.C. Ruins. I know, 'cause dear ol' Da brought ye through here when ye was just a wee babe. He paid a pretty cap or two for information on that Vault ye was brought up in, and he got that information from me."

"Y-you're lying."

"Come now, lad." Moriarty said, the barest hint of a smile on his face. "Ye didn't honestly believe that nonsense he told ye? It seems to rub awful wrong against his leavin' so sudden. And ye look bright enough to see the truth when it's presented to ye."

Moriarty reached out and jabbed Caleb in the chest. "'Specially seeing as ye're wearing dear old Da's castoffs. Must smart, I'd think...feelin' like a castoff yerself."

"Shut the fuck up."

Caleb stared into the man's face, the hot anger pulsing through his blood taking all the heat from his words. He shoved the man's hand away from him and stood up from his stool. On his feet, he looked down at Moriarty. "I think you don't know shit about my father. And you certainly don't know shit about me."

Moriarty laughed. "There it is then...I suppose there's no reasonin' with you now. I done prodded the young buck a little too hard. Get on with ye business then, lad...but if ye decide to come see me again, just remember...I know where Da went and ye don't. And that information gonna cost ye a pretty cap or two as well."

"You bastard," Caleb snapped. "How are you going to keep information like that a secret? You know there's no way I can figure out where he went without it!"

"And that's why, I know ye'll be back. You might hate me, lad. You might think I'm a damn liar and it's all the same to me, but there's no way o' knowing if I have what ye need without givin' me a hundred caps for the trouble."

His grin returned and that's when Caleb realized he'd merely disliked the Overseer. The Overseer had been arrogant, a dictator, and a fool. But Moriarty...he was a man worthy of hate. He was a man that dangled a carrot in front of a starving man and laughed.

"Now get outta me bar unless ye plan on either buying a drink or buying a whore. And from the looks of ye, ye can't buy either one...so fuck off."

* * *

#####

* * *

Murphy indicated the chair in one corner of the interior room and watched as the large man deposited his companion into it with a grunt. The companion in question, a woman dressed in battered, worn leather armor, sighed a little as she reclined in the chair. Her eyes fluttered closed and she showed her teeth.

"Damn, it feels good to get off my feet." she muttered, slumping down in the chair a little more.

Seeing her so comfortable made Murphy want to yell for Barrett. Let him grab his hunting rifle and remind her that she wasn't in her sitting room at home. She was in their home and until he knew what she and her rude companion wanted, she wasn't welcome. As it was, he was going to have to wait on her hand and foot, if only to check out her leg and stop the bleeding. Otherwise, he had the feeling that the man she came with was going to ship him and Barrett off to Paradise Falls.

No one wanted to go to Paradise Falls.

"Alright, smoothskin." He said. "Take off the boot, roll up the leg of your pants if you can. If you can't, we'll just have to cut it off."

"The whole leg or just the injured part." She asked, giving him an unsettling little grin.

"Whichever you'd prefer, of course."

The sarcasm was palpable and she laughed. Murphy shook his head, disgusted and gathered the tools he needed while she did as he instructed. The man, he noticed, stayed near the door leading back out into the metro station – eyes on Barrett constantly. Barrett was quiet and stayed out of the way which, given the circumstances, was probably the best thing for him to do. The last thing Murphy needed was for his bodyguard to get himself shot full of holes by the asshole with the shot-gun.

Scalpel in hand, along with a box of Med-X, a stimpak, and some purified water, he went back to where the woman sat. She'd managed to roll her the leg of her armor up and her boot, dusty and spattered with dark blood, lay discarded nearby. Her eyes were closed and she was quiet now. He didn't know if she was simply resting or if she'd passed out.

Her breathing was quiet and even, and as he turned her leg this way and that, inspecting her injury, she didn't move.

_Passed out then_. He decided. _Or maybe just asleep. A fight will take it out of anyone, I suppose._

He shook his head and turned back to her leg. It was covered in sticky blood and without even rising it off, he could see the gash in the skin from the raider's switchblade. It was long, three or four inches from end to end, and deep. It wrapped around the back of her calf, right above the mouth of her boot. In his opinion, it was the boot that saved her tendon.

She would have a bad scar and it would take some time to heal. She might even have some issue with the muscles from here on out – weakness, numbness, but she would live.

He took the purified water and poured it slowly over her leg, rinsing the dirt and the blood away. The wound, deep as it was, still bled sluggishly and as soon as he rinsed it off, the blood ran down her leg again. With a gruff curse, he realized he'd probably have to stitch it up.

"Damn smoothskin," he muttered, closing the water bottle and tossing it down on the ground. "Barrett! Get me a needle and the fishing line from the other room."

He glanced over at the woman's companion and glared at him. "And you, you'll have to hold her while I stitch up her leg. I'll give her an injection of the Med-X and then I'll sew it up, but I don't need the bitch kicking me in the face while I do it."

Barrett didn't say anything, but nodded and went into the other room. Without answering Murphy, the man followed Barrett into the other room, shotgun trained on his back – not trusting him. Murphy stood up and went back over to his usual work station and pulled his glasses from the upper drawer. He was glad he'd not been wearing them when the raiders came, otherwise they would've been broken in the scuffle.

As doctors skilled in optometrics were rare, glasses were a precious commodity to those who needed them. He took very good care of his and stitching up a leg would certainly require their use.

Returning to his place at the woman's feet, Murphy was joined shortly thereafter by a pissed-looking Barrett and an angry man with a gun. He took the needle and the fishing line and started threading it through. He glanced up at the man who'd come in with the woman.

"What's your name? What's hers?"

"The hell does it matter to you, maggot-farm?"

"It doesn't, but I'd rather call you by your damn name than scream 'hey ugly' or 'crazy bitch' all the time." Murphy said, then sighed. He was tired of the back and forth already and it hadn't even got started good yet. "Look, you two helped us out. We're grateful we didn't end up in the Falls...so just tell me your fuckin' names."

"Fine. Name's Jericho." The man grunted. "Hers is Lyra. Now sew her leg up."

"She said she came to talk business. You know anything about that?"

"Maybe. You and your little boyfriend here in the chem business?"

Murphy shared a sidelong glance with Barrett. The yellow sinews in his neck standing out in greater relief against his skin and his lipless mouth was arranged into a hard line. He was tense.

For the record, so was Murphy, but as he was the spokesman for their schemes, he'd learned to school his features a little better than his 'little boyfriend'. Hearing the words come from someone else's mouth, when the two of them had hardly tried to put a label on their relationship felt strange. Wrong even.

"Maybe." He finally answered, taking out the box of Med-X and holding up the syringe. He tapped the tube and let the bubbles float to the top and then he squeezed them out. "You gonna hold her for me or what?"

"For fuck's sake..." The man, Jericho, cursed.

"Here we go."

The needle slid into her leg easily. She barely flinched as he depressed the plunger. She was out. He wondered if it was because she was tired, or if it was from something else. Not that he gave a mole-rat's ass.

"Okay, I'm giving that a minute to set. Barrett, get me the lantern from the kitchen. I'll need more light over here."

Barrett did as Murphy asked, taking the rigged lantern from the counter top and placing it on the floor near his feet. Murphy turned the little knob, bringing the beam of light up. He saw the damage better now with more light and grimaced, the cut was bad. He wasn't sure how many stitches it would need, but this would take a while. He picked up his half-full bottle of water and handed it back towards the other men.

"Punch a hole in the top of this, one of you. I'm gonna need to keep it clean while I sew it up. We're in for a rough couple of hours. Once it's done, I'm putting in a stimpak for good measure. Your girl's lucky, Jericho...it could've been her Achilles tendon."

"She should've put that fucker down sooner. I don't where her head's been at lately...but she keeps messing up like this shit and she's gonna be more trouble than she worth."

Murphy didn't say anything more and simply focused on his stitching. In the end, it only took about half an hour, but when he was finished, he couldn't help but sit back on his heels with a smile on his face. The stitches were neat and even, the raw edges of the wound pulled together with only the faintest bit of puckering.

That it was going to scar was true, but it would be a nice-looking one.

"Damn," Barrett muttered from behind him. "You should've been a doctor, Murph. Next time I get shot, I'm coming to you to stitch me back up..."

All the time he'd been stitching her back together, the woman had moved very little. Her chest rose and fell with regular motions. She even faintly snored. It was inconceivable to Murphy, but the woman actually seemed relaxed enough that she'd gone to sleep on them. He thought back to Jericho's words and again he wondered at what relationship they shared. He was old enough to be her father...but that couldn't be right. They didn't act like father and daughter.

Murphy thought of his own mother...dead long after a war that didn't have any meaning anymore for anyone. He thought of Barrett's mother back in Underworld and wondered if the two of them would ever see each other again. Then he threw the empty bottle of water in the corner, got to his feet, and stalked away from the unconscious smoothskin and her whatever-the-fuck-he-was partner. The thoughts going through his head were stupid and useless.

"I'm going to take a piss." He announced, grabbing a pack of cigarettes from the counter as he went. "Unless one of you plan on holding the damn thing, keep your asses here."

"You even got a dick to piss with?" Jericho smirked, sitting against the wall and staring at the woman while she slept. Murphy took a moment to glance over at Barrett and the two of them shared a knowing look.

"You wanna find out?" Murphy snapped.

"Fuck that. I'd rather get my eyes gauged out."

Still looking his way, Barrett mouthed the words 'I want to find out' and Murphy laughed. The smoothskin, no doubt thinking that Murphy was laughing at his comment, flipped him off, but didn't say anything more. As no one was looking their way, Murphy sent a nod back to Barrett with the words 'maybe later'. Then he turned on his heel and left the room.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author Note:** There is hard violence in this chapter. Some may be disturbed by it...you have been warned.

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

* * *

_ A stale wind blew across the plains of the Wasteland, carrying off the dust kicked up by the pack brahmin and the caravaneers walking beside them, scattering it to the four directions. Ahead of her, her parents walked closed together, eyes moving from the the map in Papa's hands to the desolate land in front of them. Arefu was their next stop, the little settlement overlooking the Potomac. Liralla liked going there because there was another girl close to her in age and they would play together while her parents were busy trading._

_ Right now though, Liralla was bored. The long walks across the scorched, quiet land got monotonous...especially for a twelve year old girl. She played with the brahmin's lead, twirling the frayed end of the rope round and round her fingers. She wondered what she and Lucy would play when they got to town. If they would play anything at all. At twelve years old, games were starting to lose their amusement...it was more fun to talk to Lucy about boys, or guns, or what they would do when they were grown up._

_ Liralla wasn't sure what she wanted to do, but she knew she didn't want to be a caravaneer like her parents. She hated the endless walking...and not having anyone to talk to. Mama and Papa didn't pay her much attention usually, being busy with business and with find their way across the Wastes. Paulo, the caravan guard, was interesting and Liralla thought he was kind of handsome, but he had no time to spend with a kid._

_ "Lost in your thoughts again, I see." Abuelita said and Liralla looked up to see her grandmother smiling down at her. From out of the scarred and pitted face, the blue-white eyes crinkled at the corners._

_ "Lita, it's so boring out here." Liralla whined, slowing down so that she could keep better pace with the old woman. "When are we going to get to Arefu? I want to see Lucy."_

_ "We will be there soon. Another two miles or so and we will see the river. You know that, carino."_

_ Liralla sighed and kicked a small rock from under her feet. It skipped across the ground and landed in a nearby hole. Feeling pleased that she got it inside of the hole, even without trying, she smiled. "Did you see that?"_

_ Her grandmother chuckled. "Yes, I saw. Now if only your aim with the pistol could be so good...then your dear Abuelita would never worry for you."_

_ Liralla had gone back to flipping the end of the brahmin lead and thought some more about Lucy and what the two of them could amuse themselves with—maybe finding a hole to see how many times they could kick rocks inside? Would her friend like that or just think it was the game of a child?_

_ "Lita?" Liralla asked. "Did you know that Lucy is going to have a little brother or sister?"_

_ "No, I didn't. Is her Mama far along then?"_

_ "Yeah, she is. She looks like our brahmin...her belly is swollen this big." Liralla formed a circle with her arms and held it out in front of her. "It's kind of weird, knowing there is a baby in there. Lucy is excited though...she's tired of being the only kid in Arefu."_

_ "That makes sense, carino." Her Lita murmured, putting a wrinkled, scarred hand on Liralla's shoulder and pulling her close. "You probably wish you had a brother or sister too, don't you? It's difficult for you children..."_

_ It was awkward to walk so close, but Liralla didn't try to pull away. She knew that her grandmother liked hugs and handshakes and friendly touches like that, but because of how she looked, most people wouldn't touch her. They called her mean names and whenever Liralla heard them, it made her angry. Her abuelita was the nicest, most wonderful woman ever...who told her stories when she couldn't sleep and made the best mole-rat stew she'd ever tasted._

_ "I don't know." Liralla muttered, leaning into her grandmother's side. "Mama and Papa are so busy all the time...and I already have my hands full with the brahmin."_

_ The side she was pressed against shuddered with laughter._

_ "That is true. Children can be hard to take care of, mi pequena, but they are very precious too. That is why your Mama, Papa, Uncle Paulo and I try to watch after you."_

The sound of angry voices intruded on the childhood memory. Lyra's eyes fluttered, squinted, closed again. She didn't want to leave the warmth of abuelita's embrace, didn't want to lose the sound of her voice, but the voices grew louder, something slammed down on a hard surface, making her jump. Lyra moved her head, turning towards the ruckus, and saw Jericho facing off with one of the ghouls they had saved from the raiders.

The ghoul's name, if she remembered the name right, was Murphy and he was staring into Jericho's face with such blind hatred that she wondered just what her companion had said this time.

"I don't care if you shoot me, smoothskin," Murphy was shouting. "I'm not using all the meds I have on that woman...not without some sort of goddamn compensation! I'm not a doctor and I'm certainly not in the charity business. You want chems? Stimpaks? Med-X? You'll fuckin' pay for them like anyone else who walks through here!"

"And I'm tellin' you, it's because of us that you two maggot-farms are even alive to do business at all!" Jericho countered, slamming the butt of his gun down on the table. So that was what had startled her.

Looking around her, Lyra saw she'd been sprawled out on a tattered armchair and that her feet were exposed. Her boots were thrown haphazard in the corner beside her and one leg of her leather breeches had been cut away revealing her leg from the knee down. Her calf was encircled by a thick cotton bandage and she flexed her leg experimentally.

"Shit!" she hissed as searing pain lit up her leg from the knee down to her ankle.

Along with the pain came the memory of the raider's blade slicing through her pants and her leg, hot blood streaming into her boot, and her crazed ramblings the night before.

"Oh, look. Sleeping Beauty's awake." The other ghoul, Barrett, deadpanned from his place across the room. "That whole 'beauty sleep' thing must be a myth because she's as ugly as she was before."

"Nice to see you too, asshole." Lyra said. "How long I been out?"

Jericho didn't say anything, but cast a disparaging look at Murphy. The ghoul looked at her and part of his anger seem to leave him. His face relaxed around the eyes and his jawline relaxed as if, until now, he'd been speaking through clenched teeth.

"You've been out about twelve hours." Murphy said, glaring at Jericho as he walked over to where she sat. Kneeling down in front of her, he grabbed her ankle and turned her leg this way and that.

"The cut on your leg was bad. I had to put in stitches. I didn't have surgeon's thread and used fishing line instead, so the stitches will have to come out in about ten days. That's if the stitches don't break and your leg doesn't get infected in the meantime."

"Thanks for the help, Murphy," she told him, the face of her abuelita surfacing again in her mind. "I'll pay you back."

"You can pay me back by getting the hell outta here." He snapped, dropping her leg. Her heel hit the floor causing a sharp, jarring pain to go all the way to her knee. She flinched and shook her head.

"Sorry, can't do that."

"Why the fuck not?"

She reached down and lifted her leg and set it crossways on her lap. She ran her hand along the bandage gingerly and felt the painful ridge of the cut. It was longer than she expected—over half the length of her hand. Her eyebrow rose. Damn, she hadn't thought the raider got her that good.

"I came here to talk Ultra-Jet," she told him, setting her leg back down on the floor and leaning back in the armchair. She gave him a friendly smile. "And my ass is going nowhere until we do just that."

"What the hell's Ultra-Jet?" Murphy asked, narrowing his red-rimmed eyes at her. "I've never even heard of it."

"That's bullshit. I have it from a reliable source that you've been playing around with the idea for years and I want in. You tell me what you need and I'll bring it to you. I'm just asking that you give me first dibs on buying it when you're done."

"And if I said no?"

"Hypothetically?"

Murphy nodded, looking up at her.

"Then I suppose I could always let my friend have his way and kill you both." Lyra answered. Her smile never wavered. "Hypothetically, of course."

"Just who the hell told you we could make Ultra-Jet anyway?" He asked at last, getting to his feet and towering over her. "We're a couple of zombies, maggot-farms, as your charming associate likes to point out. What makes you think we could make something like that?".

"Doctor Barrows, actually." Lyra told him. "Last time I was in Underworld, he said he knew a ghoul by the name of Murphy—sharp as a tack, he said, but about as pleasant to be around as a fuckin' leper—who lived in a metro station to the northwest."

"He told me that if I ever wanted to make a few caps and help the cause, so to speak," she continued, "then I should get my ass up there and drop his name."

Lyra pushed herself out of the comfortable armchair, keeping most of her weight on her uninjured leg. She reached out to pat Murphy on the chest with one hand. He was as unnaturally warm as her abuelita had been. She smiled, unable to help herself.

"It's okay, Murphy. I'm sure that once you and I start workin' together on this whole Ultra-jet thing, your natural charm will show itself and you won't be the complete dick you appear to be at first."

She glanced over at Barrett. "You, on the other hand, are another case entirely. Frankly, I was tired of your shit after the first ten minutes."

"Are you fuckin' done?" Jericho spoke up. Lyra turned her head to her companion and was surprised to see him angry. What the hell was his problem? "You think I could get two seconds of your precious time, Lyra. Or would you like to make good on that promise you made to kiss their fuckin' asses since they fixed your damn leg?"

"What the hell's eatin' you?"

"I'll tell you out in the hallway, not get your ass over here."

"Jesus Christ, do you want her to break her stitches?" Murphy rolled his eyes and moving away from her. He ran a hand through the littl tufts of hair still clinging to his scalp and walked into the other room. When he returned, he was carrying a wooden crutch.

"Here!" He snapped, throwing the crutch at her. She barely caught it before it could strike her in the head. "Now both of you can get the fuck out. Maybe I'll get lucky and you two'll get mowed down by another group of raiders as soon as your asses walk out the door."

* * *

#####

* * *

Jericho was pissed. He was pissed because he was stuck in a rundown metro station with a couple of rotting ghouls. He was pissed because he hadn't had a single drop drink of whiskey or vodka since they'd left Megaton, and he was pissed off because the bitch he'd shacked up with since he'd retired was far too friendly with anyone and everyone besides him. Especially stupid, fucking, rotten corpses that could walk.

As soon as they were out of earshot of the zombies, Jericho whipped around and grabbed Lyra by her hair, slamming her against the wall. The wooden crutch the zombie gave her fell to the ground with a hollow thunk. She grunted as she made contact with the wall and looked at him out of squinted, pain-filled eyes.

"Jericho, what's gotten into you?" She snapped. "You planning on pullin' out my fuckin' hair or what?"

Her hand reached up and grabbed his wrist, trying to ease the tension on her scalp. The sharp tone of her voice and the anger in her eyes only made his own worse. He pulled her forward and slammed her against the wall a second time.

"I'm just about tired of your ass, you know that? Always goin' off on your own, talkin' to every fuckin' swinging dick that walks around. Chasin' after ghouls like a goddamn bitch in heat." He slammed her against the wall a third time.

Tears filled her eyes and Jericho felt a brush of satisfaction. He'd let her get away with too much. He'd been soft on her for too long, thinking they had a good thing going. It was about time he remedied that. Letting her hair go, Jericho drew back his arm and knocked her across the face. Her head snapped to the side and she staggered from the force of the blow, nearly losing her footing.

Blood dusted the floor as she spit out blood.

"Maybe I should just fuckin' kill you." He hissed, moving in close to her, trapping her in place with his bigger form. "Take Lucy West instead. The stuck-up little bitch looks like she could use a cock to loosen her up."

She took the bait, just as he'd hoped. An expression he'd never seen before crossed her face. But what he wasn't prepared for was the fury in her voice.

"Don't you fuckin' touch Lucy!"

Her tone grated on his nerves. Who did the bitch think she was, talking to him like that? He slammed his fist into her stomach.

"Why?" He snarled, watching as the woman doubled over and threw all the contents of her stomach up. "You jealous because she's not some washed-up slave whore like you? You afraid I'll replace your ass with someone younger? Fresher?"

As she gasped, arm wrapped protectively around her middle, Jericho felt a rush of satisfaction at seeing her look so weak. Jericho used her pain to his advantage and moved in closer, cutting off any escape she had. She tried to lean away from him, but he shifted and brought his face in close to her ear, so only she could hear him.

"Maybe I won't kill you after all, maybe I'll just tie you and Lucy up in the shack together and fuck both of you. Bet you'd like that too, you junkie bitch..."

He knew she didn't have her knife on her. It was always in her boot. Her gun was leaning against the ghouls' wall, well out of reach. The stupid bitch hadn't even thought of bringing any kind of weapon with her. It showed just how much she didn't fear him anymore...and that was after he'd already warned her once yesterday, a knife to her throat. He'd been letting his old age get to him, letting his life in Megaton make him soft. She'd been mistaking his laziness for freedom and it was time he reminded her that the only reason she was 'free' at all was because of him, because of what he'd done for her ungrateful ass five years ago.

The concentration in her face was visible as she tried to straighten more fully, her brown skin flushed. He waited until she'd braced herself against the wall with one hand, breathing slow and steady, and then he slammed the bottom of his boot down sideways on her injured leg.

Lyra's scream was loud as she collapsed on the ground, tears in her eyes. Blood seeped through the bandage the ghoul had wrapped around her leg. But instead of looking broken, like he wanted, the woman at his feet looked absolutely furious.

"Jericho, you motherfuck—you just wait 'til I get up from here!" Lyra growled, eyes flashing. "You'd better watch where you sleep, asshole, because as soon as I get the chance I'm gonna cut your goddamn throat!"

In answer, he slammed his boot down on her leg again. She cried out, a sob escaping her throat this time. Jericho smiled.

"You ain't gonna do shit," he told her, grinding the sole of his boot against her leg. She kicked out at him with her good leg, but the angle was too awkward and she thrashed out at him in vain. He leaned forward and hit her in the face again. The thrashing stopped.

"You think you're a badass, Lyra, but you're not." He bent down and grabbed her by the hair again. She struggled, but when he tightened his grip she whimpered and stilled again. He put his lips next to her ear.

"You're just a stupid bitch who got lucky. If it wasn't for me, you'd still be rottin' in Evergreen Mills – sucking the dick of every raider that came through. But don't worry. I'm about to put you back in your place and maybe, just maybe, I'll let you live."

* * *

#####

* * *

In the living quarters of Seneca Station, Murphy glanced at the door. He clenched and unclenched his fist, the knuckles popping sporadically with the tension. His heart pounded as the cries of the woman echoed through the station. It made it hard to concentrate on what Barrett was saying.

"What are you gonna do, Murph? You really want to do business with either one of those smoothskins? Both of them are liable to get us what we need, wait 'til we have the stuff and then rob our asses blind."

Barrett had a point. Murphy knew that, but the sounds coming from the station were making it really hard for him to think about himself. He didn't care about the woman. He didn't. He sure as hell didn't give a mole-rat's ass about the man...but the station was his home, Barrett's home. He'd been damned if someone was going to waste his supplies and his time like the fucker outside was doing right now.

He glanced over at Barrett and took off his glasses, setting them down on the counter behind him. "Barrett, get your spare. I'm getting the bat behind the counter. I say it's time we got a bit of payback."

Barrett sighed. "You serious right now?

"I'd rather do business with her than that asshole. At least she looks us in the eye."

"Doesn't mean she won't spit in it later."

"If that happens, we'll take care of it then. Now get your spare."

Finally, Barrett nodded. "Fine, but don't say I didn't warn you."

Murphy knew what he was doing was probably stupid, but at the moment, he really didn't care. He was tired of being pushed around, antagonized, bullied by assholes just like the one outside his door. He was tired of dealing with people who couldn't see value in his work. The woman, Lyra, was probably as bad as the asshole beating on her right now, but she'd been to Underworld. She'd talked to Doctor Barrows and she made a good enough impression that the physician had decided to let her in on Murphy's plan.

It was a vote of confidence Murphy felt compelled to honor, even if it came to shit later.

Jerking open the door with his free hand, Murphy led the way while Barrett covered him with his spare shotgun. It'd been his idea to go out first. The way he saw it, if he miscalculated and the raider got the jump on him instead of vice versa, it was better to give the raider a subpar weapon. Soon as he walked outside, he heard the mixture of sobbing and animal grunting—and saw far more than he wanted of the raider's ass and the struggling woman beneath him.

Murphy's mind flashed back to his own mother and how she'd sobbed and screamed in their bedroom late at night after his father came home. His eyes hardened. He kicked one of the tin cans littering the metro station's floors, sent it sailing on a low trajectory straight for the man's bare ass. It made contact and clattered on the floor. Murphy kept his bat low, holding it lightly by the handle with one hand.

"Get off of her." Murphy rasped. "Now."

The grunting stopped and the man turned, face red. "What the fuck do you two shitheads want? Can you see I'm fuckin' busy?"

"I don't give a damn. Get up and get out."

With a growl, Jericho climbed to his feet, pulling his pants up as he did. He looked down at Lyra and gave her a sharp kick. "Don't you even think about movin', bitch. I ain't finished with you yet."

Murphy's hand tightened on his bat as Jericho stalked closer.

"What the hell d'you think you're gonna do with that?" Jericho sneered, eyeing Murphy's bat. "You think you're some kind of hero? What's stopping me from knockin' you on your ass?"

"Hey, asshole," Barrett spoke up from behind them. "I don't you didn't forget about me. I got two twelve-gauge shells with your name on them right here. You take another step towards Murphy and I'm putting you down."

Jericho looked from Murphy to Barrett and back again. The ghoul thought he saw realization flit through the man's blood-shot eyes. Taking his eyes off him for a second, Murphy looked around. He didn't see a weapon.

"Looks like you got two options." Raising his bat, Murphy pointed towards the gate leading outside. "You turn the fuck around right now and leave...alive. Or we can kill you and feed you to the mole rats living in the metro."

Barrett shifted behind him and Murphy could imagine him taking aim at the man's head. From the way the man's jaw clenched and his eyes flitted to the right, over Murphy's shoulder, he suspected he was correct.

"Either way, you're leaving without your shit." Barrett added. "Murphy told you you were gonna give him some kind of compensation for wasting his time and meds on that woman of yours. Looks like we'll be taking everything...including her. Now get the fuck out."

"You think this is it?" The raider snarled, baring his teeth like a feral dog. "You think you're gettin' one over on my ass? I know half the motherfuckers in Paradise Falls! I'll lead them righ here and then you fuckin' zombie'll wish you killed me!"

"Not...your best argument, dumbass."

Jericho's head jerked towards Lyra and that's when Murphy took his opportunity. Lunging forward, he took the bat in both hands and swung.

The bat made contact with the raider's skull with a wet crack and the man spasmed wildly, collapsing into a boneless heap on the floor. Murphy stepped away from him, disconcerted by the convulsions, but before he could say or do anything else, a loud BOOM echoed through the station. The twitching ceased.

Murphy, ears ringing, looked down at the dead man...to surprised to say anything.

Barrett walked forward and spat on the floor near the body, then leveled a glare at the woman who stood, perhaps as surprised as Murphy, by the wall. "Consider that payback for yesterday. Now go clean your ass up or something...I'm sick of lookin' at you."

Murphy glanced to the side and Barrett's eyes met his. "I'm going for a smoke, Murph. You got this shit or what?"

Murphy nodded and handed Barrett his bat. "Yeah. You do that."

"Good."

His bodyguard cast another hateful glance towards Lyra, then turned and left. Murphy took a breath and let it out slowly. He turned to his new business partner.

"You good to walk?" Murphy asked her.

Her head turned to look at him. Murphy knew the look. He'd seen it often enough in his own mother's eyes after a night with his father. The only difference was that her eyes were brighter, feverish. He wondered if she'd snapped.

What came out of her mouth surprised him.

"I could use the crutch. Bastard stomped my leg a couple of times." Her voice was hoarse from yelling, but it was even...something at odds with the strange look in her eyes. "Buff-Out too…in my bag. I'm not a chem-junkie...but I have to take Buff-Out for my hand."

She moved and he saw the old injury, the gnarled flesh on her hand that told the tell of a gunshot wound. A bad one. "If I don't, the cramping gets bad and I go into withdrawal. It's not pretty."

A shudder went through her body and she looked away from him. She seemed to realize that she was still half-naked. She started readjusting her clothes. Murphy sighed and turned away from her.

"Just stay here." He told her. "I'll get your bag. Then you'd better get cleaned up like Barrett said...I ain't heartless, but you're gonna be doing that shit by yourself. Stitches are one thing, but this stuff…"

"Don't worry about it, Murphy." Her raspy voice was hollow. He looked back and saw that one corner of her mouth had curled upwards in what might've been a smile. It was hard to tell with the bruises and the swelling starting to take over her face. "It's nothing new."

He walked away, a chill passing through him.

That's what his mother used to say.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author Note: **Thank you to the reviewers of the last chapter: **Le-Weeb** and **guest. **A special thanks to **guest** for pointing out and naming something I suspected was wrong with Chapter 10. I have since gone back and fixed the issue and feel much better about the whole thing.

If you guys will do me the favor of going back and rereading Chapter 10, I would appreciate it. I want to make sure you guys have the new and improved ending in your mind before reading this next one.

Speaking of which, there is sexual content in this chapter.

Enjoy guys and thanks for sticking with me.

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

* * *

Four days had passed and Lyra still hadn't returned.

Caleb wandered towards the gate leading out of Megaton, his pistol strapped to his hip. He'd grown tired of staying inside the walls. Concern for her safety created a restlessness inside him that was difficult to alleviate. He was used to the routine chores and set schedules of the Vault. It was strange to have no one and nothing to which he was accountable. He'd taken to wandering around town, learning the layout and the faces of the residents by heart.

Listening to Manya and Nathan's patriotic ramblings was fascinating and they'd proven to be very welcoming to him—even offering him a place on their floor to sleep upon learning that he had nowhere to lay his head at night.

Maggie often joined him on his walks around town and on the small, routine maintenance jobs that Walter had started him on. He'd learned from her that Lucas Simms had a son about her age, one that she was obviously sweet on. From the way she talked, the innocent infatuation was mutual. She talked about her 'new dad', Billy, and how nice he was to her—and how much she missed her real parents.

To take her mind off their untimely death, Caleb shared things about life in the Vault with her. He found a rapt audience with her, as she wanted to know everything—what he did there, who lived there with him, if there were any children there now, and what it was like living underground. He told her about his friendship with Amata and with Jonas. She listened, with wide eyes, as he told her about his tenth birthday party when Andy, the culinary robot, ruined the cake and got it all over the kitchen. He told her about school and what he'd learned there, what kind of chores he'd be assigned.

Maggie, child though she was, was an excellent listener and Caleb enjoyed spending time with her. She didn't interrupt much and when she did, it was usually to ask a question. Talking to her was easy and it helped alleviate a lot of the loneliness Caleb felt.

Learning all he could about Megaton and its people kept his mind away from thoughts about where Lyra was, if she was still alive, or if she would come back. But most of all, it kept him from thinking of his father and where he was, and why he left him. It squashed down the growing feelings of betrayal and uncertainty that ate at him every time he had a second to himself. The longer he was outside the Vault, the more he began to imagine that his whole life inside it had been an illusion, crafted by the one man he thought he could trust implicitly.

Caleb stood in front of the gate and readjusted his pistol at his hip. His arm ached as he practiced pulling the firearm from its makeshift holster and aiming. It was twingy, painful, but there was nothing he could do about it. He'd stopped carrying his injured arm in the sling after the first day. He still remembered falling on the ramp that night...how vulnerable and useless his arm had been, hampered by the sling.

It hurt to move it, but the pain wasn't unbearable. Caleb might've bought some pain medicine if he'd had the caps, but even with the small odd jobs that Walter gave him, he was barely getting enough bottle caps to keep himself fed and hydrated. He was going to have to do something else to earn caps, and the way that Moira Brown kept ambushing him when he went by her shop—excited and chattering about her book—was making it clear that he was going to have to make good on the promise he'd given her.

Today, in preparation for whatever Moira was going to make him do, Caleb decided to go outside and get a feel for the landscape. He was alone today, unoccupied by Walter's endless repair detail. Maggie was helping Jenny Stahl at her restaurant.

He planned to walk the perimeter of the town first, getting the lay of the land and some perspective on what, if anything, was nearby. From what he'd gathered talking to the townsfolk, there was the remains of a small neighborhood called Springvale nearby, along with an elementary school that may or may not be crawling with raiders. There was bound to be something in there worth trading with Moira, as she seemed the type to buy pre-war things like that. But better judgement said he needed to be careful and avoid the place, no matter how tempting the prospect.

Eventually, he was going to have to work his way south. Moira wanted him to check out a grocery store called the Super Duper Mart, to see if he could find food and medicine there. Anything he found he was welcome to keep, she'd told him, and it was a tempting prospect as well.

Temptations aside, the few details he'd received from Lyra about the Wasteland were still fresh in his mind, as well as the warnings and the information he'd gathered in his conversations. He'd wanted to speak with Lucy some more, but it seemed that since the first night when he'd noticed the prostitute, Nova, she'd taken to avoiding him. Why, he wasn't quite sure.

"Going out today, son?" Lucas Simms called. Caleb turned and saw the sheriff, decked out in his usual duster and hat, coming from the direction his home near Megaton's twenty-foot gate. He nodded in greeting and smiled.

"Yes sir." Caleb smiled. "I got tired of fixin' broken pipes and wandering around, thought I'd head outside to see what I could find."

"I can understand getting antsy." Simms stopped in front of him and nudged his hat up his forehead. "But just be sure you don't rustle up any trouble out there, okay? You seem like a good kid...I'd hate to tell Lyra you got yourself killed out there before she came back."

Caleb's smile faltered. "I'll, uh, be sure and watch out for danger. Don't worry about that."

The man looked him over. "See that you do. That shoulder o' yours ain't at a hundred percent just yet, remember."

"I'll remember."

"Good. I'm off on a patrol myself, so I might see you around later when you get back."

"Have a good one, Mr. Simms."

The man tipped his hat as seemed to be his custom and Caleb watched as he took the main path down towards the center of town. Harden, Lucas Simm's boy, was probably down at Jenny's place with Maggie. Caleb took a breath and faced the gate again.

Excitement washed through his system despite Lucas Simms' warnings. The monotony of the last four days fell away as he activated the gate and it began to screech open, revealing the Wasteland beyond.

It was close to midday, but the sky overhead was covered with thick clouds. Caleb wondered if they heralded rain, or if the day was simply overcast. As Caleb had never seen or felt rain, his mind was a tangle of questions.

What kind of rain fell out here? Would it be acid rain?

And if it was acidic, how strong would the pH be? Would it burn his skin?

Was that what had happened to the man in Moriarty's Saloon?

Caleb thought about the possibility and shuddered. He shook his head to clear it. That was enough. He was wasting time he could be using to stretch his legs and gather salvage items.

He walked through the gate and caught sight of the robotic gatekeeper, Officer Weld for the first time since he and Lyra had passed through five days ago. The two-meter tall robotic figure stood in nearly the same place as he had then, but as Caleb approached, Officer Weld's head and torso rotated to face him. Caleb stilled and licked his lips, uncertain as to what to do.

Did he greet the automaton? Keep walking?

_Don't shoot him. In fact, don't pull a weapon around him unless there's a good reason – if you do, he'll fuckin' kill you._ Lyra's words rose, unbidden, into Caleb's mind and his hand fell away from the gun at his hip.

Officer Weld's face lit up as he spoke. "Howdy, partner."

Caleb's mouth felt dry. "Uh, howdy, Officer Weld."

"Have a nice day...please watch your step."

Just like that, the exchange was over. Officer Weld's chassis turned back to its original position and it wandered a few steps off to scan the landscape at a slightly different angle. Caleb let out the breath he'd been holding and checked the Pip Boy on his arm. He pulled up the mapping feature and got his bearings.

A tiny hamlet of a town, Springvale lay between Megaton and the Vault he'd called home. He couldn't remember much of what he'd seen when he and Lyra had passed by there, except that it appeared deserted and relatively safe. As he was new to the outside world and had already passed by there once before, it seemed the best bet for his first explorations. He would head there, look around, and see if there was anything he could find worth selling when he got back to town.

He looked at the sky again. Yep, better get a move on, Caleb thought.

He would got to Springvale, gather what he could—if anything—and come back to Megaton. Hopefully, it wouldn't rain...but if it did, he supposed there was always the possibility of using one of the houses in the tiny town as shelter until it stopped.

* * *

#####

* * *

Inside her home, Silver sat at her kitchen table. Her arm was outstretched before her, her sleeve rolled up above her elbow and she sighed a little as she pushed the needle into her vein. The sting was marginal, despite the large needle. Silver had developed an impressive tolerance for pain after years of chem usage. She depressed the stiff plunger and heat entered her blood along with the mixture of psycho. It took a full minute to empty the vial of chemicals into her bloodstream, but for Silver, it was a minute full of hot anticipation.

Psycho, though intravenous, took time to take full affect, but when it did, the rush was unbelievable. Her heart rate increased suddenly, fluttering like a bird behind her rib cage. Her whole body tingled, all her nerves alive. Extracting the now useless needle, Silver panted lightly as the initial rush hit her.

Covering the tiny hole in her inner elbow with her hand, she rubbed the soreness from her inner arm. The feeling of her fingers sliding along her skin gave her cold chills. She got up from her seat at the table, her quivering pulse making her movements jerky. Out of habit, she grabbed for the rifle next to her chair, taking it with her as she walked through the house.

A noise outside caught her attention. A pitter-patter sound.

Silver blinked rapidly, her mind turning a thousands miles per hour. Her hand shook as she raised her hunting rifle, only to still as her brain focused at last and identified the sound she was hearing.

It was raining. Raining outside her window and the drops of water hitting the cloudy glass pane made the sound she was hearing. She lowered her rifle and chuckled to herself. Silver started back through her house, heading towards her bed where she could ride out the rest of her buzz.

Another sound caught her ear, but this wasn't rain. The grip on her hunting rifle tightened until her fingers were white. She turned and marched towards the door, murderous intent pulsing, pulsing along with every frantic beat of her heart. She kicked her door opened and stared at the surprised figure on the other side of the door.

He'd been knocked back by her kicking open the door and was holding up one arm in front of him protectively. His other readjusted the glasses on his face. The rain pouring from the sky wet her hair and plastered it to her skull, but she paid it no mind as she pointed the barrel of her gun at his head and advanced. It was another of Moriarty's minions, she just knew it. They'd come for her at last.

"Moriarty's gonna pay for this," she growled. "Sending a little piss ant like you to kill me!"

"Wait, I'm not-"

Silver didn't give him chance to speak. She lunged forward, bringing the butt of her rifle around. It struck him hard under his jawline and down he fell, splattering mud all over her boots and the legs of her trousers. His glasses when flying. Towering over him, she kicked him in the stomach and pointed the rifle at his head. He choked, sputtered. Silver's expression didn't change.

"Moriarty's been trying to get me for years, asshole." She informed him. "Did you think you was gonna get the drop on me that easy?"

"It was..." he coughed. "It s-started raining. I was just...looking for shelter...I swear."

"Bullshit."

She kicked him again for emphasis, barrel still trained at his head. He heaved and spat, drawing into a ball on the ground. That's when she saw the faded, yellow number on his back, still visible despite the gray mud clinging to the fabric. For a split-second, Silver's mind cleared and a wicked idea rose from its depths.

He was young, she realized, looking down on him. He could be useful for quite some time before he wore out. A young, healthy Vault-dweller would be worth a few hundred caps, at least—if he was sold to right people. Or, forgoing caps entirely, she could just trade him for a shitload of chems. Chems weren't as easily transported as caps, but that avenue cut out any unnecessary haggling with others.

Silver hated dealing with middle men.

Without another second's hesitation, she brought the butt of her rifle down onto the boy's temple. His body stiffened momentarily, then relaxed as consciousness left him. Out cold, he didn't protest or struggle as Silver grabbed him by his ankles and dragged him into her home.

* * *

#####

* * *

Lyra knelt on the floor, her back against the counter in the ghouls' living quarters, with Murphy's cock in her mouth. He leaned over her, the palms of his hands braced against the same counter, while Barrett entered him from behind. With each of Barrett's powerful thrusts, Murphy's hips bucked forward and his member was thrust deeply into her mouth.

It was a quite the system, working far better than any of them had anticipated. Barrett had his pants pulled down low enough that he could move without being hindered by his clothing. Murphy was naked from the waist down, his wiry legs situated on either side of Lyra's folded ones. Meanwhile, Lyra was fully clothed—the two males being uninterested in her body—which was just as well as her body wasn't quite ready for anything more strenuous than what she was currently doing.

Murphy groaned, bucking hard into her mouth. Lyra nearly choked, but she took a slow, shuddering breath through her nose and the sensation passed. Barrett cursed and moved faster, his ragged breathing sounded loud in the otherwise quiet room. Murphy moaned, stiffening.

A hot stream of semen shot into Lyra's mouth and she squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing as best she could. Despite her best efforts, however, some of the creamy liquid dribbled out the side of her mouth and onto her legs. Another minute later, Barrett gripped Murphy's hips hard, pulling him closer as he spilt his own load into the other's backside. Murphy reached back with one of his own arms, clasping Barrett's hand tightly as he moaned in response. His cock slipped from between Lyra's lips, and Lyra opened her eyes.

Looking from one ghoul face to the other, she memorized their expressions. The pure ecstasy and feeling etched into each line of their ravaged features was quite the sight. She wondered what it would be like to feel that strongly for someone, to enjoy another person's touch that much. Then the thought passed and Lyra wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

Carefully, she crawled out from her place between the counter and Murphy's naked legs. Still riding the waves of their passion, Murphy and Barrett didn't notice. Grabbing a pack of cigarettes from her bag in the corner, she limped her way to the exit and slipped out.

The metro, as expected, was deserted. There was no one here but the three of them now. With Jericho gone, his body dragged into the deep recesses of the metro station, Lyra found that she felt a bit lost.

It wasn't that she had held any fond feelings towards the raider, but she'd been with him for five years now. Had known him a year longer than that. He'd been an asshole. He had belittled her, harassed her, and at times—especially in the earlier years—had been downright cruel. No, it wasn't that she missed him. It was that she didn't know what to do now that she was alone in the world.

Pushing the chained gateway open, she stepped outside in the cool night air. She closed it behind her and then pulled a cigarette from the pack. Tapping the end of it against her thigh, she sighed.

The situation with Murphy and Barrett hadn't turned out like she wanted. After she'd composed herself and cleaned up as best she could from Jericho's field day on her face and body; after she'd taken her Buff-Out with some water and was certain her withdrawal symptoms were held firmly at bay; after all of that, Murphy and Barrett sat her in the comfy armchair in the corner and outlined, in no uncertain terms, what kind of strings came with their little act of kindness.

She was going to have to pay them back for the Med-X and the other supplies Murphy had used to treat her leg. Since she wanted to partner up with them to make the Ultra-Jet, there were certain guarantees they wanted to ensure that when she left, she would go out and bring them what they needed; that she wasn't going to skip town and disappear. She'd been quick to tell them that she understood their suspicions perfectly and that she was prepared to put them to rest.

With her scarred hand, Lyra touched the cold metal collar around her neck. It was smooth and cold against her skin, much lighter than she'd expected when they first showed it to her.

The raiders who'd come to take them away, the ones that Lyra and Jericho had killed, were more than simply raiders. They'd been slavers working for Paradise Falls. Apparently, someone else knew of Murphy's existence and his penchant for chemical alchemy. They'd wanted to enslave him and anyone with him and force him to make chems for them. The explosive collar sitting around her neck was one of two in among the raiders' usual garbage.

It had been a choice between two options.

One, she would agree to wear the collar until such time as Murphy and Barrett agreed to release her—in other words, when she'd gained their trust. Or two, they would cut their losses, blow a hole through her, and send her to join her late companion in the metro tunnels. She couldn't blame them for their caution, or their manipulation of her circumstances. It was simple math.

The items needed for the Ultra-Jet were hard to come by for two distinct reasons. The boxes of extra-sweet cereal known as Sugar Bombs, being pre-War snacks, were scarce, scattered far and wide over the Wasteland. Jet, while relatively common, was expensive when purchased, and the places it could be found for free were usually dangerous and crawling with raiders.

Murphy wasn't stupid. He'd been straight with her from the moment they'd revisited the subject.

He knew how far and wide she might have to travel, and he knew the chances of her biting the dust in her search were high. He knew that aside from blackmail or bodily harm there was little he could do to prevent her from leaving and simply never returning. What he needed right now, more than supplies, was assurance that she was genuine. He'd presented her with one of the collars and asked her to put it on as an act of good faith. He would remove it, he'd said, when she came back to give him his first batch of supplies.

Aside from the indignity of the collar and the image of enslavement that it represented, Murphy's terms were reasonable. Once she'd proven herself, he agreed to pay her a handsome sum for each box of cereal and inhaler of Jet she brought back to him.

The sex hadn't factored in to the negotiations, but it had been Lyra's idea.

She didn't know why she'd brought up the subject. Or why she'd offered. Hell, she didn't really understand why Murphy and Barrett had even agreed to it. Perhaps she'd reached a new low after Jericho's beating. Or maybe, because of the beating, she did it as a final 'fuck you' to her old partner.

Maybe she'd just been curious.

Doctor Barrows had mentioned once that Murphy had always held the tendency to bat for the other team and that one time, he'd heard his friend make a drunken pass at Gob on occasion when the ghoul had still lived in Underworld. It had been a funny story—one she'd thought about mentioning to Gob, just to see how the man would react—but after seeing the way Gob looked at Nova, she decided to let the sleeping dog lie.

Until now...when she'd come to the Seneca Station and found herself in a damnable situation, with a collar around her neck, and nothing but her own messed-up sense of integrity, or lack thereof, to blame.

"I gotta be a fuckin' idiot." Lyra said, lighting up her cigarette. She rarely smoked, but tonight was the exception. "Maybe Jericho was right...maybe I am nothing but a junkie whore..."

She traced the metal circle around her neck the metal, gazing out over the dark expanse of the Wasteland. Along the horizon, she saw the faintest glow and wondered how soon it would be before dawn. Lyra thought back to the shack she'd shared with Jericho in Megaton and felt a brief touch of satisfaction. If and when she ever got back, she liked the idea that the shack would be hers and hers alone.

_Might invite the Vault kid to stay. __Pretty sure he's got nowhere else to go_. She thought, drawing on her cigarette. The burning tobacco glowed a warm orange on the end. _If __he hasn't gotten himself killed, that is._

The feeling of being lost returned at the thought of the teenager and Lyra scrubbed her hand over her face. She hoped the kid had found some work. She hoped he'd made some caps, bought food, had some kind of shelter.

She had no way of knowing and she didn't understand why she cared so much. Hell, she had enough problems of her own right now.

There was a good chance that Murphy and Barrett would use her until her leg was good enough to make the walk back to Megaton, then after sending her packing, they'd blow the goddamn collar around her neck the moment she was far enough away that they didn't have to worry about the shockwave.

"Yep, definitely a fuckin' idiot," she muttered.

A tear burned its way down the bruised side of her face. Lyra swallowed thickly, wishing she had some water or a beer to wash away the taste in her mouth. She looked out toward the horizon and wondered what her abuelita would think if she could see just how low her little carino had fallen.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** Okay, so thanks to my sister **Loony Bin Jen** for kicking me in the behind about updating this story.

I know it's a long shot (haha), but if any of you are still reading this thing, I hope you enjoy the new chapter. It might be riddled with spelling/grammar things, but I like how it turned out. I have an idea for the next chapter already, so this shouldn't be the only update.

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

* * *

The last rains of spring came and went. Three days after the last drops disappeared into the dust and rubble of the Capital Wasteland, the morning sun rose into the sky and brought with it the distinctive heat and dryness heralding the beginning of nuclear summer. Lyra tasted the air, inhaling deeply through her mouth. The air was metallic and acrid, leaving her coughing and hacking.

When her fit eased, she stood behind the rusted metal gate of the metro station and frowned. Her leg was going to slow her down and whether she hugged the landmarks from here to Megaton closely or not, the day was going to be brutal. Ideally, she would've stayed in Northwest Seneca Station another couple of days to rest her leg, but the reality out here was rarely ideal.

Her supply of Buff-Out was dangerously low and she'd all but exhausted the good graces of her ghoul saviors. There was no more credit to gain from Murphy until she made good on their bargain and while inconvenient enough, the situation with Barrett was much worse. Laconic and ill tempered at the best of times, the sour-faced ghoul was growing bolder and more irate with every day. His verbal barbs were more threatening and the consideration he was giving to his rifle and her head lengthened like shadows.

Traveling through the Wasteland was a dance with death on the best of days, but staying at North Seneca was like making an appointment with it. Instinct and good sense agreed—better to take the chance outside.

"Hey, smoothskin…" The sound of Murphy's gravelly voice made Lyra jump.

"Damn, Murphy…" She hissed. "You scared the shit outta me!"

"Keep your voice down and take this."

Before Lyra could say anything, her backpack landed with a thud at her feet and Murphy was pressing closer to her, shoving something into her hand. Already on edge, she tried to back up, nearly dropping whatever it was he'd pushed into her hand. Murphy wasn't having it and captured her hand with both of his. He forced her fingers around the object.

"Listen to me," he told her, voice low and full of warning. "And for god's sake, keep your damn voice down. I don't want Barrett coming out here."

"Murphy, what the hell is going on?" she whispered, surprised and unnerved by his proximity.

"You gotta leave…right now. I packed your shit and if you're smart, you'll get the hell outta here as soon as I'm done talking." He glanced behind him and the corner of his mouth twitched. He lowered his voice more.

"If you don't, Barrett's gonna try and blow the collar as soon as you're outta sight tomorrow…if he don't decide to shoot you in your sleep before then." He shook his head and his voice softened. "Fuck, I don't know what his problem is…maybe he's got jealous or maybe he's full of piss and vinegar…I don't know, but... you stay here any longer and there'll be nothing left of you."

"Why do you care?" She couldn't help asking. Murphy sighed and glanced behind him again.

"Look, you ain't nothing to me compared to Barrett, but we had some laughs okay? You did what you did those couple of times, and maybe I shouldn't give a damn, but it matters enough that I don't want you blown to kingdom come, alright?"

"Well, shit." Lyra said, not knowing what else to say. "You, uh, said you got my stuff packed?"

Murphy stepped back and let go of her hand. "Yeah, I had to make sure you don't run off with any of our shit. Now go…before Barrett wakes up from his stupid, fuckin' nap and wises up. Soon as you get that collar off, leave it on one of the bodies outside. I'll blow it after an hour…that should give you plenty of time to get far enough away. I'll spin some bullshit story to Barrett about how we got into it and you took off."

After a moment's hesitation, Lyra nodded and snatched her backpack from the floor. She'd turned around and was about to push open the gate when she sighed. Looking over her shoulder, she gave the ghoul a grim smile.

"Goddammit, Murphy. You're alright, you know that?"

Murphy's grim expression didn't change. "Save it. Just get outta here…and remember, we had a deal. You get those supplies for me… I'll check the blue mailbox outside every few days. Leave them there and I'll get your coin to you."

Lyra thought the idea was sketchy, but there wasn't time to argue.

"Fine," she said. "And thanks…for everything."

Murphy waved her off, then turned around and hurried back towards the office he and Barrett called home. Lyra tightened her grip on the key he'd given her and pushed open the gate. Outside, the hot air of the Wasteland blasted her in the face and she hurried to remove the collar from her neck.

* * *

# # # #

* * *

Caleb trudged along, flanked on either side by raiders, with his arms tied behind his back. His lungs felt full of sand and the unforgiving sun blinded him. Every so often, as the raiders dragged him along, he would misgauge distance and overbalance, or the toe of his boots would strike against a rock, and he'd tumble to the ground.

With his arms tied behind him, falling was treacherous and painful. Without the ability to catch himself, he often landed awkwardly, with eyes, nose or throat choked by the unending dust, his body throbbing long after he was hauled to his feet again. A sharp word or a cuff to the head usually followed each fall, and he'd long become accustomed to the sharp jab of a gun barrel in his back.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten, his stomach raw and aching from the days he'd spent unfed in the dark prison of the Springvale School, but more than food, more than rest, Caleb wanted respite from the sun.

As far as he could tell, the Wasteland was made of fire. The heat of the sun beat down on his unprotected head like a beacon, burning and searing his skin like a white-hot brand. The back of his neck felt raw and sticky. His face hurt, not so much from the endless stumbling and cuffs from the raiders, but from the sun. Each bead of sweat burned, stung, as it cut a path down his face or neck. If Death had appeared that very moment, with a cup of water and blessed darkness, Caleb would've gladly sold his soul.

"Maxine, shade up ahead." One of the raiders spoke up.

The leader of their group came forward. Maxine was a dirty, wild-haired woman with few teeth and two bent nails through each of her ear lobes. She was fearsome and, like most of the others, prone to bouts of violence. Scared as Caleb was of the raiders, Maxine terrified him. As the whole party stopped, Caleb all but collapsed to the ground.

"Let's get this meat out of the sun." Maxine said. Through the haze of his bad vision and the blinding sun, Caleb thought he saw her gesture in his direction. "From the looks of him, he'll roast before we get to the 'Falls."

"We don't get outta the sun, I'm gonna roast." One of the other raiders said.

Laughter sounded and a hand of steel closed on Caleb's elbow, hauling him to his feet once more. "Come on, meat. You heard the boss…move your ass before you cook."

The sudden movement made Caleb's head spin and a wave of dizziness overwhelmed him. Between the iron hand on his elbow, however, and the jab of the rifle behind, he managed to stay on his feet.

"We eat meat like you, you know…" A thin face appeared in his limited line of sight and breath that smelled like carrion assaulted his nose. The sun-darkened raider was thin and wraithlike, and missing two fingers on one hand. Caleb pulled back instinctively, nearly losing his footing on the uneven terrain, and earned more laughter.

"Shut it! And bring that boy here!" Maxine shouted. The laughter faded.

Jostled forward by a rough exchange of hands, Caleb came face to face with Maxine. Grabbing his chin, she moved his face left and right. Her tanned face, lined with age and hard living, pushed close as she regarded him a sour expression. The fingernails digging into his skin was painful, but he pressed his lips tight together. The vice-like grip loosened and Maxine released him.

She looked over his shoulder. "Rex, gimme your bandana…"

"What the hell for?"

"Just shut the fuck up and give it here! Don't make me put my boot up your ass!"

There was grumbling and more movement. A stained bandana appeared to his right and Caleb watched as Maxine opened the canteen by her side and doused the cloth with liquid. Seeing the bright droplets fall to the dusty ground made Caleb want to cry. Thirst overwhelmed him and his licked his lips. God, he could _smell_ the water.

Once the cloth was soaked, Maxine made a knot in the ends and draped the bandana over his head. The water was tepid…it had to be in this heat, but against his hot skin, it felt glacial. Caleb groaned with pleasure, closing his eyes to soak in the feeling. There were snickers all around, but he didn't care.

"Listen, meat," Maxine said, grabbing his chin to capture his attention again. He cracked his eyes open to look at her. From the close proximity, he could see the blood vessels crisscrossing the yellowed curve of her eyes.

"You're half-cooked. Your pretty Vault skin ain't so pretty no more and the fever'll get you before nightfall. You act right? I'll give you some shit that'll take the sting right out. You pull any shit…I'll stake you out and let your skin crack."

Her fingernails dug into his skin, like razors. "What's it gonna be, meat?"

"I-I'll act right," he whimpered. "I swear, just…can I please have some water? I'll do whatever you want…j-just need enough to wet my th-throat…"

"We'll see," Maxine answered and let him go. She looked over his shoulder and jerked her head and the rifle pressed against his back, urging him to walk.

With a grimace, he started moving, openly weeping and not caring anymore. They started down a steep slope, sliding and cursing all the way down. Caleb almost fell twice, but the raider next to him kept him steady. The bandana on Caleb's head was bone-dry by the time they reached the shadow of a crumbling highway overpass. The difference in temperature was immediate and Caleb shivered involuntarily. The raider with two missing fingers shoved Caleb down beside one of the large concrete pillar holding up the overpass.

"Spike, give the meat a drink. He's spitting dust."

"The fuck I gotta do it?"

"'Cause he's meat your crew's selling and because I fuckin' said so…"

"Give his ass a drink from your fuckin' canteen then," Spike snapped. "Shit, my ass is dyin' out here too!"

"You're right." Maxine said. "You are dyin'."

A loud bang echoed through the air, making Caleb jump and his eardrums shatter. Falling to the ground without thinking, he pressed his forehead to the ground and heard nothing but the ringing in his ears. The shallow puff of his breathing brought up dust and he tasted the stale Wasteland sand. Then there were nails cutting into his skin, his face was forced upwards, and the metallic rim of a canteen pressed against his lips. Through the tears in his eyes, he saw Maxine's grim and blood-spattered face as she poured water into his mouth.

Unprepared, he nearly choked, but as the water filled his mouth, washing away the taste of sand, his despair turned to rapture, and the tears he wept were no longer from fear, but gratitude. He swallowed mouthful after mouthful greedily. Maxine allowed it for several minutes before finally taking the canteen away. She released him and Caleb fell into a graceless heap on the ground.

"Remember," she told him grimly as she towered above him. "Act right…or Spike won't be the only one feeding something else tonight."

From his place in the dust, Caleb nodded.

* * *

# # # #

* * *

Lyra could still feel the ghost of the slave collar around her throat. As she meandered her way through the Wasteland, she reached up from time to time to reassure herself that it was no longer there. The resounding explosion it'd made as she'd scrambled onto up a ridge south of Northwest Seneca Station haunted her even now, many miles away where she rested in the relatively cool shadows of the Moonbeam Cinema's large outdoor screen.

The key Murphy gave her hung around her neck on a leather thong she'd lifted from a bloated corpse outside of Hamilton's Hideaway. After she'd removed the slave collar, Lyra found she was unable to part with it. Even now, as she rubbed calloused fingers over the back of her neck where the collar had chafed her, the thought of tossing the key away seemed akin to sacrilege.

She thought of Murphy, alone once more with Barrett, and hoped he was all right.

Did Barrett suspect he'd let her go, she wondered. If he did, were they fighting about it now? Had Barrett hurt him? Would Barrett hurt him?

The questions, like her compulsion to keep the key, troubled her. She'd never been a superstitious person, not as a young girl before her family was killed or any time as an adult. Yet, as Lyra sat in the blessed shade of the Moonbeam Cinema screen, something deep inside her warned her to keep the key with her and to keep it close, lest the gods of chance find her ungrateful.

She eased a hand into the neckline of her leather armor, freeing the thong with its dangling key and worried the key's toothy edge with her thumb.

Lyra could still see Murphy's face as he cracked Jericho in the head with his baseball bat. The wild contortions Jericho made on the ground not far from where she'd laid. In her mind, she heard the echo of Barrett's shotgun blast that killed Jericho and it became the blast of the collar exploding. The blast Barrett had meant for her. Her thumb rubbed the key harder and suddenly, Lyra was shaking.

Thanks to Murphy, she was free.

Not only, free of Jericho…but free of Barrett too.

* * *

# # # #

* * *

Maxine swept her vision over the rest of her group, lingering longer on the Meat dozing fitfully in the shade of the overpass. The lines of her weathered face pulled downwards as she frowned. His pale skin, angry red and in places already weeping clear fluid, was ruined. If the fever didn't get him during the night, infection would. If she didn't give him something, he'd be raving. She'd seen it often enough among the slaves she'd taken across the Wasteland to the 'Falls. She'd seen it among her own crew, usually among the runaways from the settlements, before the reality of the raider life set in.

Meat was a commodity. It paid good and it tasted good – hell, it worked good after it was properly beaten into submission – but it was no good at all if you let it rot before it was dead. Maxine like to think she was a piece of meat too, dried and salted by the sands, into a heap of jerky so tough couldn't no body hope to take a bite out of it. One of the reasons, she chalked up to living so long. The thought made her smile, relaxing the lines of her face again.

Maxine alone was on watch, not trusting anyone else to do it. She paced slow and deliberately around the perimeter of their makeshift camp, feeling the oppressive heat even in the relative protection of the shade. The others were sleeping like the Meat.

At high noon, in the middle of the Wastes, the best thing one could do was sleep. The dust and the strength of the sun beating down on you would fry your brain like Mirelurk eggs. Next thing you know you'd been traipsing through a nest of radscorpions, or getting your ass chewed in a Super Mutant camp.

Pausing in the deepest shadow she could find, she uncapped her canteen and sipped her water, absently spitting the grit out. The heat waves danced over the landscape, making it hard to know what was real and what was little more than illusion. There was little to see, as far as she could tell. Capping her canteen, she strapped it to her hip again and returned to pacing.

Halfway through the next slow lap, the Meat came to with a jerk and cry of pain. Maxine paused in her pacing and glanced in his direction. She saw the same red flesh, the same weeping blisters, and two unfocused eyes staring at her.

"…you've come back." He croaked. "I-I can't believe it."

His eyes squinted and now his eyes were leaking like his skin.

Already raving, she thought and walked towards him. Seeing her approach, his voice rose and he started crawling across the ground. The rough, rocky ground tore at his clothes and the dirt mixed with his weeping skin. She scowled, thinking of the reduction in price an infected Meat would bring.

"…y-you gotta help me," he sobbed. "They're gonna eat me. Please, y-you…help me. My dad, I gotta find my dad…"

Maxine opened a little pouch she kept tied to her belt and withdrew a syringe. She only carried a couple of stimpaks with her, but the boy was going to need it. By this time, he'd reached her, his hands still hopelessly tied behind his back. He rolled over on his side to look up at her. His blue eyes were bright, burning like welding flames.

"Stay still, Meat," she muttered. Stimpak in hand, she knelt down beside him.

A second later, she felt a white-hot flash of pain between her shoulder blades, followed by a peculiar sense of tingling. Turning around, her brown eyes widened.

"Holy Fuck! Everybody get your ass up!" she shouted, dropping the stimpak and reaching for her gun.

Before she could pull it, another white-hot flash of pain hit her, then another, and another. Then Maxine was down, unable to move. The giant radscorpion, receiving no resistance, climbed heavily over her body. Frantic movement, shouts of surprise and fear, and a scattering of gunshot met Maxine's ears.

Delirious, the boy trapped beneath her weight went on sobbing.


	13. Chapter 13

**Author Note:** I wanted this chapter to be longer that it is, but that just wasn't happening. That said, I know where I want to go next so another update should be up in the near future.

Thanks to the reviewers and followers from last chapter! I really appreciate the support guys. **:3**

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

* * *

Lyra awakens to the sounds of screaming and scattered gunfire. Her eyes shoot open and instinctively, she grabs her assault rifle. Rolling out from under her makeshift sunshade, Lyra hisses as the movement jars her injured leg, and she hides behind the scant protection of the cinema screen's support pole. Her brown eyes scan the horizon, the thin shadows around her. She struggles to calm her breathing and then jumps badly as the boom of a shotgun echoes through the stifling air. Images of Barrett shooting her dead flash through her mind. For a terrifying split-second, she thinks he's found her.

Then the distinctive three-round burst of an assault rifle joins with the booming shotgun and her mind clears. The sound is close, much closer than she'd thought at first. Peeking out from behind the support pole, she breathes a sigh of relief and gets painfully to her feet.

From the heat and the blinding glare, she guesses it's an hour or so after midday. She should still be sleeping in her makeshift shelter, saving her energy, but curiosity gets the better of her. The screams and the gunfire are beginning to die off. She takes the time to grab an extra magazine of .556 bullets and a pair of battered sunglasses before heading out cautiously over the burning Wasteland.

Lyra approaches from the top of the ridge line, much as she and Jericho did when they'd reached North Seneca Station. She lowers herself to the burning sand and crawls along the ground until she can look down on the expanse of ground below her. A slight chemical smell mixes with the metallic smell of blood in the air. Looking down her sights, her eyes widen.

A giant radscorpion, its rich red-brown exoskeleton half-hidden in the shade of a highway overpass, moves awkwardly. It's injured. Two of its legs are dangling uselessly from its side. A few yards away, another and much smaller radscorpion lies dead in a small pool of its own body fluid. The bodies of the fallen raiders decorate the ground, along with the remains of what seems a temporary camp.

Glancing up at the bright, unforgiving sky, Lyra considers her options. The day is only going to get hotter and her makeshift camp at the Cinema is a poor. The shade of the overpass is a blessing, but the giant radscorpion is a very real danger. The bodies of the raiders, too, are tempting. They may have chems and her supply of Buff-out may run out before she reaches Megaton. Then there's the opportunity for more ammo, possible items she could trade or re-purpose.

Blowing out a slow, deliberate breath, Lyra reaches a decision and focuses her attention back down the sight of her rifle. She follows the movement of the giant 'scorpion with her eyes and aims carefully. She squeezes the trigger, sending her burst of gunfire across the distance, and severing the 'scorpion's injured legs clean off. It makes a strange clicking noise and moves backwards, trying to find the threat.

Lyra is already aiming again.

Another three-round burst cuts across the distance. There is a tiny explosion of fluid and pieces of exoskeleton from the 'scorpion and it wobbles on its few good legs. She hears a strangled cry torn from a human throat, and Lyra realizes someone is still alive among the carnage below. From the heavy border between shadow and sun comes movement and Lyra sees a bloodstained hand reaching up from the ground. Another cry, this one fainter and less articulate than the last, echoes in the stifling air.

The 'scorpion turns unsteadily, sees the movement and moves awkwardly forward. She gets to her feet and limp/slides her way down the slope, sending bullet after bullet into the mutated creature's body. Dark fluid and pieces of exoskeleton scatter.

The 'scorpion is two yards away from the outstretched hand and Lyra's magazine is empty. Cursing, she rips the spent magazine free and slams in her spare. More bullets rain down. Another leg is torn off, then a fourth. Finally, with only two legs still twitching, the giant radscorpion collapses to the ground in a slowly expanding circle of dark red. Two feet in front of its clicking, outstretched pincers, the hand goes limp.

Lyra closes in on the campsite, scans the ground and sees the discarded shotgun near a mangled raider. She picks it up, checks the chamber and drops her rifle. Drawing up as close as she dares, Lyra aims and puts two twelve-gauge bullets in its head. It shudders a moment, then lays still. Lyra retrieves her assault rifle and fires another bullet just to be sure its dead before stepping carefully around it to check on the limp hand and its owner.

Whoever it is lies face down on the ground, pinned underneath the body of a dark-skinned raider with nails through her earlobes. Hair that might be blond underneath layers of blood, dirt, and filth has fallen into the man's face and she brushes it aside.

Her heart skips a beat and adrenaline fills her veins. Her breath catches and before she realizes what she's doing, she's down on both her knees and shoving the raider off his body. Her sunglasses fall into the dirt.

"What the hell…Caleb? Caleb!" Her hands ghost across the red, weeping skin, the spattering of bruises, the cracked lips. Her visions blurs at the edges as Lyra presses two shaking fingers to his neck. A faint, fluttering pulse moves against her finger and her blurred vision worsens.

"Caleb, can you hear me?" she whispers. She rolls him over as gently as she can and brushes more blond hair from his hot, dry skin. She looks him over, checks his arms, his legs, tentatively probes his torso and shoulders with her fingertips.

"Caleb, what the fuck?" she snaps, anger taking over. "What are you doing all the fuckin' way out here? I told you to watch yourself, you fuckin' dumbass!"

Even through her anger and her scattered, furious cursing, Lyra scrambles around the camp, trying and finally succeeding in finding a canteen of water. She opens it, sniffs the contents, and grimaces at the metallic tang of radiation. Still, beggars can't be choosers. She carries it and another half-full canteen she manages to find back to where Caleb lay in the shade of the overpass, then tries to hold him up so she can pour a trickle of water past his cracked lips.

Her first attempt fails. So does her second.

Adrenaline still rushing through her veins, Lyra bites back another curse and shifts him around in her arms. "Come on, drink it," she urges him, trying a third time. "What the hell kind of mess did you get yourself into out here, huh? How many times you need me to save your ass before you wise up?"

At last, she succeeds. He coughs, sputters a little, but swallows some of the water all the same. He moans, his words garbled and nothing but gibberish. He weakly tries to push her away. His eyes crack open, his blue eyes impossibly bright in his red, angry face. With large, unfocused pupils, he stares at her but doesn't see.

"Shit." Lyra frowns. "You've got sun sickness."

"D-don't I'll be…good," he groans, weakly fighting her. Precious moisture leaks from the corners of his eyes. Moisture he doesn't need to lose. "I'll d-do anything, please…"

She recoils as though Caleb struck her.

Memories of her time in Evergreen Mills come back to her in a hot and horrible flash. The pens. The buyers. The beatings. Jericho's face looms in her vision. The heat of the day disappears; there is only ice in her veins now. Lyra, visibly shaking, eases Caleb to the ground and withdraws from him.

With the added distance, Lyra gets her breathing under control and replaces the cap on the canteen with clumsy fingers.

"Stay here, understand?" she tells him, holding out the canteen to him. Her voice sounds far away, unfamiliar. "I've gotta get something for your fever."

He doesn't take the canteen and Lyra drops it by his side. She tries to smile and finds it impossible. She gets to her feet and shoves her sunglasses back on her face. "Don't move, you hear me? Don't you move from this spot until I get back. Drink some water. I'll be right back."

Lyra doesn't wait for a response, just turns around and starts limping away. She picks up her rifle and holds it to her chest. She's halfway back to her makeshift camp when the tears come.

* * *

**# # #**

* * *

Nova washes her face in a small basin, savoring the cool feel of the water on her hot skin. She's tired, bone tired and feeling under the weather, but knows that she needs to get ready for the evening customers. Downstairs, she can hear the usual din of voices and clinking bottles, glasses, plates. She can even smell the stench of the alcohol, but that's probably because the walls and floors of the Saloon are drenched in it nearly every day and night. She pats her face dry and runs delicate fingers through her short hair, trying to coax the red strands back into some semblance of order.

A shudder runs through her body and she runs towards the tiny adjoining bathroom. She practically collapses in front of the toilet and vomits what little food and drink is in her stomach. There isn't much. She hasn't had a good meal in three days. She can't keep much down besides stale bread and potato crisps.

Nova hopes she isn't pregnant again. The idea of going to Doc Church for 'treatment' terrifies her. She remembers the last time too vividly and the time before that one too. Even more than the treatment itself, Nova hates the idea of Moriarty adding the cost to what he calls her 'outstanding debt'. Every little bit that goes to her debt turns into another night of Johnnies waltzing in and out of her sheets, more and more of herself leaving.

Another retch doubles her over, but there isn't much left. She chokes, gasps, moans. She doesn't try to stifle her misery; the sounds won't carry through the din going on below. Not that it matters anyway.

Maybe I'm finally dying, she thinks as she sits back on her heels. She scrubs a hand over her face. God knows, I could use a vacation.

She's shivering, weak, but the sickness seems to have left. Nova pulls the level on the side of the toilet and gets to her feet. The room wavers in her vision, but she makes it to the faucet, takes a drink and spits it out again. When she can see straight, she exits the bathroom and moves towards the door of her room.

Before she can reach for the knob, the door swings open and Gob is standing on the other side. Nova blinks in surprise and tries to focus on his face, on the little scabby places on his cheeks where Moriarty's knuckles broke the leathery skin just the other day.

"What it is, honey?" She takes a slow, deliberate breath. "If Moriarty sent you, I was just headin' back to work."

"He didn't send me." Gob rasped. "I was near the stairs and I heard you. You're sick."

"I'm fine, Gob."

"No, you're not."

Nova sighs. "No, I'm not. But Gob, honey, it don't really matter…does it? I gotta head down to work, same as you. Does Moriarty know you've left the bar?"

"He ain't here." Gob tells her and takes a step into her room. "I came to check on you."

Nova motions for him to close the door. He does and before he can turn around, Nova's slid her arms around his torso and pressed her cheek against his back. He stiffens at first, surprised by her sudden affection, but recovers. He drapes her thin arms with his and squeezes her hands.

"I think I'm dying, sweetie," she whispers against his stained white shirt. She hates how calm she sounds, how utterly unaffected. Gob goes rigid as soon as the words hit the air and she feels sorry for hurting him. It seems she's always hurting him.

"Maybe I'm sick, but I feel like I'm dying. Feel like I've been dead for a long time…"

The rough hands covering hers tighten painfully. "You're not dying, Nova," Gob growls. "Don't talk like that... I'll tell Moriarty you're sick and that you can't work tonight. He can beat me all he wants, I don't care."

Nova's fingers are going numb, but she doesn't care. It's feels good to be numb, she decides, and she finds herself wishing all her body felt as numb as her fingers – all except her heart. Right now, her heart is full and warm and she wants it to stay that way.

"Honey, you know better that all that, but it's still sweet of you to say."

"I'm not just saying it," he fires back. "I mean it. I do, Nova. I won't let him work you to death. We'll get you some medicine. I'll pay for it myself, if that asshole won't do it."

He's shaking underneath her embrace and Nova's heart swells just a little more. The warmth pouring from his lanky frame enters her body and pools in her chest. Nova presses herself more firmly against Gob's warmth and smiles.

"Gob, if I ever loved anybody in this world, it'd be you… You've been so good to me over the years."

"Damn it, Nova. Stop talking like that!" Gob says. He's shaking and angry, and then he's moving in her arms. Turning around, he pulls her firmly to his chest and buries his face into her hair. "You can't leave me. I won't let you."

They stay like that until the din below grows into a cacophony of shouting, fighting, and breaking glass—and then, only then, do they separate and make their way down to the bar.


End file.
